The Magician
by Mr. Cobrah Thunderer
Summary: The day The Potters & The Dark Lord met their fate.
1. James Potter: The Stag

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James paused from his work to wipe his brow, leaning his shovel even further into the earth as his arm pressed against it. God, this garden was beautiful. Being under "house arrest" under the advice of Dumbledore as he was, tending to this backyard was one of the few things that took his mind off the outside world he so wanted to join.

The Death Eaters he could be fighting, the drinks he could be sharing with the boys, the adventures he could be having - god, how he wanted nothing more than to jump the fence and seek out just one drive around the neighborhood in Sirius' bike looking for hell to raise… but no, Harry and Lily came first.

A few years ago, younger James might have looked at his older self and scoffed. A man stay at home to raise some baby while his wife went out and won the bread for the family? As if. No woman ever gets to tell me what to do!

At this older James would likely smile maddeningly at his younger self. That James had so much to learn about the world, so many tremendous things to experience that would show him what a real man acted like. That believe it or not, as humiliating as it was to admit, Remus had been right all along.

Holding Harry that first time had scared James more than anything in the world - he was so _small_. What if he dropped him, what if he squeezed him too hard, what if he was careless and accidently got his son hurt? What if he didn't like him?

That first day when Lily's maternal leave had ended was easier than he had expected since she had left all the baby books and advice pieces of child-rearing she had collected for all those years, but it was still nerve-racking nonetheless. But then the next day came, and the next day, and the next, and Harry was still in one piece, so everything seemed to have worked out.

Additionally, it helped that the world's most famous historian was their next-door neighbor, was fond of James and Lily immensely and was great with children to pick up the slack whenever James needed to work on the house or run the occasional errand. Aside from Sirius, Remus, Peter, and The Longbottoms, there were few people he trusted more with his son than ol' Bathilda.

James had been preparing to meet with The Longbottoms on this very day for about a week before they cancelled last minute - ignoring the healer's advice Peter had been sneezing up a storm at the last Order meeting and had accidently gotten Frank very sick and Alice had caught it from tending to him, apparently. A combination of good rest and some seriously medieval methods Sirius had cooked up soon restored Peter's health to normal, however.

Desperate to occupy his evening with some good company, he had reached out to Remus only for him to inform James that he had been injured pretty badly as a result of his "furry little problem" occurring last Tuesday with no memory of what had happened bad leaving him nursing a black eye, internal bleeding, a broken arm, and several shattered ribs. He was in no tradition to travel, and was just as good a conversationalist over fireplace anyway.

As for Sirius and Peter, they were a pair as Sirius was guarding him. Peter was currently helping Sirius with "unfinished business", whatever that meant, and it would likely take all day, but if they got out early they might be able to drop by for a bit. Probably had something to do with an overly competitive round of wizard's chess or something, they were both weirdly passionate about that board game in a way he and Remus were simply perplexed by.

_Lily should be back in an hour and a half or so. Better finish here, than get started on the scalloped potatoes._

And so, James returned to his work.

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	2. Lily Potter: The Doe

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An unusual sight beheld anyone passing by the sight of one Lily Potter, Unspeakable: a witch in The Ministry of Magic intently perusing a Muggle book with one hand and jotting down names with the other, tongue between her teeth and brow furrowed.

_Daisy Potter? James is allergic._

_Katniss Potter? Good, but taken._

_Poppy Potter? Not huge on alliteration. _

_Sage Potter? Too druggy._

_Fleur Potter? Too French._

_Rose Potter? Like Vernon's mother? I don't think so!_

_Petunia Potter_

Lily looked at the last name on the page a little sadly before continuing.

_Erica Potter? Not bad._

_Holly Potter? Has potential._

_Heather Potter? Oh, I like that one! Just like Mum._

_Ivy Potter_

Lily repeated that name in her head a few times. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine what her daughter might look like. The last one was a dead ringer for James, if she was anything like her older brother she wouldn't be much different. She smiled, circling the name vigorously in green ink.

_I think we have a winner._

"Hiya, Lily! Whatcha writing about?"

Quickly composing herself in case Rookwood was making one of his unannounced rounds around the office, Lily looked up, pleasantly surprised to see a friendly face, Casey Price.

"Nothing." Lily muttered evasively, stuffing the book into her purse, although not quite fast enough.

"Wait… Are you pregnant again?" Casey asked curiously, eyes tingling with excitement.

"Not that I know of." Lily said. Although she enjoyed parties in moderation, she wasn't too keen on having an undeserved celebration any time soon with this crowd, while brilliant this department wasn't exactly great at throwing parties. "But me and James have been talking about having another, doesn't hurt to be prepared."

"Good thinking!" Casey chirped. "Although if all the sniping between us and Crouch's people doesn't stop soon you may have more maternal leave on your hands than you had bargained for, it's driving me mad. Just wanted to let you know me and the girls are going for drinks at _The Three Broomsticks_ if you're interested, I'm buying."

"I'm sorry Casey, that sounds really fun, I'd love to go, but I really need to get home." Lily sighed. "James and Harry will be missing me."

"That's okay, I understand." Casey nodded. "Tell you what, how about I bring home some pound cake for you and the family for all your hard work?"

"Oh, you're so sweet, you just made my day!" Lily said. "Give the girls my love."

"Will do! Well, my shift ended two minutes ago. I'm off now." Casey said, summoning her coat and giving plopping a folder she was carrying onto the desk and gave Lily a quick hug before taking off.

"Hi, B.J., take the papers from Evans to Price before you go, please. Thank you! Happy Halloween, Lily, you give those two boys a hug from me and see you in the funny pages!"

As Lily waved goodbye to her friend as B.J. strode over, looking at the folders interestedly only to discover to his disappointment that it had been magically sealed.

"Shouldn't you be working on that assignment for Rookwood?" B.J. asked.

"Shouldn't you be getting Croaker his coffee or something, B.J.?" she asked with mock disapproval, folding her arms and raising her eyebrow.

When Lily had first met the pale, freckled intern with straw blond hair in front of her, she had initially viewed him as a shy intern who seemed eager to prove himself and didn't talk much, but seemed like a nice enough young man. However, it was when she found out what B.J.'s name actually stood for over a coffee shared in the breakroom that she felt a sort of kinship with him. After all, if there was anyone who knew the burden a name could be, it was her.

And how unlike her own son, Bartemius Isaac Crouch Junior was his mother's boy in looks through and through.

"Nah." Barty shrugged. "Croaker left a note, says he's off on a mission - something about pumpkins sprouting arms and legs and marching through some Halloween parade in Cokeworth, tried to eat all the pets in a pet store. No need to worry, though - Audrey - you probably wouldn't know her, she interns for Mismanagement of Muggle Artifacts - told me they're fine, Pumpkins didn't have teeth nor a proper digestive system, don't worry, they're more wigged out than anything."

"But that should be a simple case of cleaning up the damage and obliviating all the witnesses in the area, right?" Lily wondered.

"You'd think, but - get this -" Barty leaned in closer as if he had been longing to discuss this with someone for the past few hours - "The witch who stopped them requested they be granted citizenship and insisted they be given a chance to redeem themselves in a court of law."

Lily's jaw dropped. "No. Way. You HAVE to be making that up."

"I'm not, what can I say, fact is stranger than fiction." Barty shrugged. " Anyways, Croaker is going to examine them himself, see if they display enough humanity to spare them from the pie tin."

"Wow. What a trip. Makes me feel bad about all those pumpkin seeds I bought for tonight. Those poor unborn fetuses." Lily said. "Wait… should you be telling me all this? Couldn't this get you in trouble?"

"Lily, my friend, in order to be a glorified coffee jockey like myself, you have to be FEARLESS." Barty bragged. "After all, the last boy who went into the Department of Mysteries never came out!"

The way Barty was grinning devilishly and stuck his tongue out reminded Lily an awful lot of Sirius. Only whereas you could usually see the conviction in Sirius' eyes, something in Barty's eyes seemed to have another meaning.

"Besides -" At this Barty glanced around to see if anyone around them was paying attention and resumed in a low whisper. "They aren't exactly trying to keep this on the down low, y'know? Between you and me, _The Daily Prophet _has been given an "anonymous tip". After all the bad stuff that's been happening lately, the folks that pay our bills think could use something a little lighter."

"Hurm." Lily mused sardonically, processing what she had been told. "Three things: first, why is Muggle artifacts being called in, don't we ALSO grow Pumpkins? I could go to the break room and pour myself some pumpkin juice right now. Second, how slow of a news day does it have to be for THIS to be a hot story? And three, doesn't your _Dad_ pay for your bills?"

"One, we aren't sure these pumpkins belonged to a wizard or Muggle when it was enchanted, they want things to be thorough. Second, no major attacks this week, _The Prophet_ is somewhat hurting for stories, today's edition was pretty embarrassing. And thirdly, it's not true, I don't know who told you that but it's not true, ok?"

Barty looked visibly steely and upset at the last part, for the first time Lily had known him looked like the man he was named after.

"I was just teasing, B.J., don't get your panties in a -" Lily began but stopped. "Wait, what was that? There wasn't _any_ Death Eater activity this week? You sure? Every week for the past few years I've had to read about something awful in the news."

"Yeah, Father has been really uptight about it all." Barty drawled. "Says it's the prelude to something horrible since it's Halloween, maybe the Ministry has killed so many of them they decided to go underground."

"But what about the nasty assault on that couple last tuesday?" Lily asked.

"Not officially a Death Eater attack by all indications." Barty said. "Key sign is no dark mark, nobody knows the spell that casts it except Death Eaters to keep it "in the family." Besides, people getting attacked for being Muggle-Born isn't really newsworthy anymore, y'know?"

"Jeez, what a world." Lily sighed. "Well, I gotta get going. Have a Happy Halloween, Barty."

"Happy Halloween, Lily." Barty replied.

As Lily walked off towards the apparition zone and was scanned by security on the way out, she prayed inwardly that Ivy wouldn't have to grow up in a world where the death of Muggle-Borns wasn't pushed aside in order to discuss talking pumpkins.

However, as Lily pulled out her list again and continued scribbling down possible names for her daughter while waiting for the proper grate, she did realize that there was a sort of comfort to focusing on something that she could control instead of the horrors that awaited her instead.

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	3. Tom Riddle: The Orphan

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Tom Riddle lay in his bed with his arms on either side, wearing a simple grey tunic and pants, currently in the middle of a deep, dreamless sleep as the clouds rained down their moisture, casting a greyish-blue light over the room. Waging war on all of the country and pushing the limits of what magic could do was extremely taxing, he required at least seven hours of sleep in order to qualify as "rested".

However, today he had slept for twelve hours thanks to the double dose of potion he had taken, as he had stayed up from the previous day until the wee hours of this morning going over and over what he knew about the prophecy made concerning him and this boy, everything ever recorded about the sleepy little town of Godric's Hollow, everything known about The Potter family tree, and spending increasingly long hours shut up in his "experiment room", preparing for every single possibility. Even if Albus Dumbledore himself showed up to defend The Potters Tom was not going to be taken by surprise.

There was no doubt in his mind that he could take on either James or Lily Potter if the situation called for it - both were an exceptionally gifted witch and wizard, but even if he didn't have certain things set in place to insure his survival he knew deep down that surely they were no match for him.

All he needed to do was kill Potter so the bloodline wouldn't continue and leave the broken woman for Severus to pick up the pieces, shouldn't be too much of a problem for one who had toppled literal and metaphorical giants. And being terrified of an infant? Ridiculous. This would merely be a precautionary measure, that was it.

And yet...

He had been told this information by Severus Snape. Severus had fancied Evans back when they were schoolchildren. He could not read Snape like he could that of other, more susceptible Death Eaters. And the Potters' secret-keeper was one of their very best friends, and had hinted at the existence of a resistance concocted by Dumbledore (who else?). Perhaps this was merely an elaborate trap designed to lure him in and attempt to assassinate him or at the very least incapacitate him.

Tom's more vivid side imagined apparating into Godric's Hollow only to discover the entire Auror office backed up by Dumbledore's secret society, The W.A.Y (Women Against You-Know-Who) and those Dark Force Defense League thugs in addition to any and all Death Eaters who either wished to defect or wished to stage a coup, all united by their shared desire to put an end to his reign. It would either be Moody or Crouch of course would be the one to lay the killing blow while Dumbledore sat aside in a restaurant and smiled knowingly, watching safely through the window and popping Muggle candies in his sanctimonious mouth.

Most insulting among those traitors were his precious deadly alliance of Lucius and Bellatrix, pointing and bent over laughing and loudly questioning to everyone within earshot just how stupid he thought he was to entrust his Horcruxes to anyone besides himself, after receiving his old diary and the Hufflepuff's Cup they swiftly realized what they had been handed and quickly destroyed them. How easy it would come to them to find Ravenclaw's Diadem in addition to Salazar's Ring and Locket, how foolish it made him appear to put faith in such a terrifying combination of Lucius' brains and Bellatrix's brawn.

Of course The Potters were never there, they were in another continent entirely. Why would a bunch of Gryffindors stay in a place as blatantly obvious as Dumbledore's hometown full of Muggles and deep historical importance? He had placed far too much weight on the significance and legacies of The Founders, that had always been his weakness. Besides, it wasn't the birth of the half-blooded Potter the pure-blooded LONGBOTTOM that he should have payed more heed to anyway.

It was then Tom would die knowing full well he had been duped and unlike Grindelwald's bitter and glorious duel against Dumbledore closing the chapter of his rule, Lord Voldemort was defeated in one swift stroke by the brilliant machinations of two frenemies who had been brought together by their shared desire for a better world and celebrated their victory by embracing one another and proclaiming brotherhood.

But of course Tom knew that this was entirely and categorically unrealistic. Firstly, The Dark Force Defense League would likely arrest everyone before or after he had fallen. Secondly, he had instructed his Death Eaters to celebrate All Hallows Eve however they wished as a thanks for their loyalty, perhaps visiting an Auror household in search of tricks or treats would satisfy their desires. Thirdly, Dumbledore really _was_ that sentimental about the place he had grown up. And finally Tom had it on good faith that the only thing keeping Lucius and Bellatrix from killing one another while the other's back was turned (aside from his wrath) was an Unbreakable Vow they had promised to Lucius' wife and Bellatrix's sister.

For some reason Tom fretted about what he was going to wear - he usually wore grand clothing for parties and social events (the grand golden and silver robes were the most popular) but ultimately decided yesterday on a black robe he wore occasionally in his twenties that still fit - one stolen from a skinned and gutted Lethifold to give the illusion of wearing shadow.

After a deep, restful sleep, Tom would have either breakfast or lunch depending on the hour, then perhaps train a little more, then dress himself, perhaps drop by the halloween party Lucius was throwing, then finally get around to insuring his rightful place as ruler of all The United Kingdom and beyond. Yes, everything seemed to have really fallen into place for his big night.

Not that Tom was thinking about any of this, of course. He was still fast asleep.

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	4. Cornelius Fudge: The Minister of Magic

Although the day of Halloween still held some significance as a respected holiday in both the wizarding and muggle worlds, today was proving to be rather quiet. Aside from being besieged by Death Eaters, everything was more or less business as usual across the country.

Now, you likely know that something big is going to happen if you are at all familiar with the story of what happened on October 31st, 1981 or believe that many of the most important days of our life start with us going about business as usual. Additionally, you may fairly assume that because James, Lily, and Tom have been introduced that this chapter will detail what happened that night, how everything went down, and so on and so forth.

But before we get to that (be patient, we will get to that soon enough), I feel it is important to draw attention to a person you may have heard of before. You likely haven't, even I had to strain to remember exactly what he did before he became vogue. Let's take a look in, shall we?

As a matter of fact, this scene might not even need to be read in order of release date, you could place it before or after or during Lily's chapter and little would be lost. Perhaps upon a reread this could even be read in a different order than before, just to shake things up!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, you'd have to find one of the elevators Lily took to and from the top floor each day. Then, you would go six floors up from _Level Nine: "The Department of Mysteries_" to _Level Three: _"_The Department of Magical Accidents & Catastrophes_". Then, you would find his secretary, Janice Caprison. Then, you would indicated to her that you had set up an appointment previously. You don't want to barge in on such a busy man, do you? Finally, after Janice checks his schedule, notifies him you are here, tells you he's ready, and begins perusing her copy of _Witch Weekly_ once more, you would walk into his office and begin your inquiries.

Unfortunately it wasn't a good week for the man in question to receive visitors, he's currently in a meeting right now with Miss Caprison briefing him. But thankfully that's why we brought the invisibility cloak, and his office door is jutting open just enough for us to slide through vertically. Now's our chance!

"...get someone in here to fix that door, oil the hinges or whatever the problem is, it's like there's a sticking charm on it. My apologies, you were saying?"

"Thankfully, we were able to isolate the incident and Obliviators are modifying memories as we speak."

"Mmm-hmmm. That's good, that's good. Anything else I should know?" Cornelius Fudge sighed, unhappily drumming his fingers on his desk.

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"Just thought you might like to know that Crouch and Moody requested a copy of the report once you're finished reading it. And also asked to send some of his men to give the crime scene another check after you're done."

"Wh-wh-whaaaaaaat?" Cornelius demanded looking both puzzled and severely irked.

Now, to some this may seem like normal government procedure, but Cornelius had had a _VERY_ trying week and the prospect that he had even more paperwork to work on was not good news in the slightest to him.

"Why? Our people took care of it, you said people are being obliviated right now and the vegetables in question are in custody. I don't think this really concern them, it's Halloween for Salazar's sake, we always have to deal with these people around this time of year!"

"Well, according to this letter, Head Auror Moody believes that this may be connected to a ring of Muggle-Baiting incidents and Crouch, well, you know how much it would mean to him to show off another group of wannabe Death Eaters in chains."

Seeing how flabbergasted her boss was, Miss Caprison was smart enough to add; "It's above my paygrade, sir. I could tell them no, but I like my job too much, and I'd like to see you make a cheese danish like I can. Sir."

"But - but - I - oh, fine, no need to bother Vincente with this, _I'll_ give the authorization. Tell Crouch and that - that blasted _paranoid weirdo_-"

"You have to be more specific, Mr. Fudge, there's a lot of paranoid weirdos nowadays."

At this Cornelius gave her a crooked, cynical sort of smile.

"Ha. Good one, Miss Caprison. Well, go write that they can go ahead and take a look, and tell them to send me the paperwork when they get the chance. They can help with wiping all of the pulp off the street if they want, I don't really give a damn. Thanks for bringing this to my attention. You may leave now."

At this Cornelius turned around in his seat and sank down, his body posture resembling that of a rag doll about to fall off the edge of a child's shelf. Miss Caprison hesitated at the edge of the door, she DID really want to read that article weighing in on _"Who's The Most Magical Man Of Our Lives, Gilderoy or Ludo?"_ \- for the literary value, of course - but she knew that ogling over those men wouldn't feel nearly as good if she didn't comfort her boss first.

"Are you ok, Mr. Fudge?" Miss Caprison asked, unsure if she was the right person to help him.

"Yes, I suppose." Cornelius sighed. "It's been a long week. Nothing's happened the whole bloody week except for a couple of bloody talking pumpkins! I know I should be grateful to be Junior Minister and everything, but I really got the job because my predecessor was fired because of the scandal with YOUR predecessor and they wanted to bring someone fresh as soon as possible. I didn't really earn my place here, it was convenience that brought me here. I've been working the same job for ages and have never been promoted to Senior Minister or Head of Department or something meaningful. Why, I've outlasted two Ministers and at this rate I'm going to outlast three when Bagnold retires!"

Miss Caprison could tell this had been building for a long time. Seeing Cornelius express such frustration with his life status in small ways wasn't new to her but hearing it aloud certainly was.

"I suppose I fall into that old stereotype Professor Slughorn always told me about." Cornelius sighed. "The snake never satisfied with satisfaction, who can't look past his own ambition to see the forest for the trees."

"I'm a Ravenclaw, so I can't relate." Miss Caprison shrugged nonchalantly. "Birds live in trees."

"Too true, too true." Cornelius agreed. "But hey, it could be worse, I haven't been sent to The Centaur Liaison Office for all the years I've worked here, so I must be doing something right, I suppose."

"If it's any comfort, sir, I think the reason they might keep you here is only because you're so good at it, they're afraid of losing their best worker." Miss Caprison said warmly. "You're the best boss I've ever had here."

"Well, that's very nice of you to say, Miss Caprison. If Vincente gives me that raise, I'll see to it that you get a hefty bonus as well." Cornelius said, showing another crooked smile. "But in order to make that happen, I really have to get back to working on this. Good day, Miss Caprison."

"Good day, Mr. Fudge."

Miss Caprison almost saw herself out, but then Cornelius suddenly realized something.

"Miss Caprison?"

"Yes, Mr. Fudge?"

"Just realized something - I'm the _only_ person you've ever worked for at The Ministry." Fudge stated.

"Exactly." Miss Caprison replied.

An awkward silence hung for sixteen seconds.

"Will that be all, Mr. Fudge?"

"That will be all, Miss Caprison."

And so, his secretary saw herself out and Cornelius Fudge returned to his work, shaking his head and muttering to himself about misleading employees and slashing their wages once he became Senior Minister of The Department of Magical Accidents & Catastrophes. He had no idea that within a couple of months that soon he would turn the world on its head, that he would soon get the promotion he had worked for so fiercely, and especially could never had predicted that tomorrow he would want nothing more than to go back on his wish that something would happen to break up the tedium.

_**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please remember to review if you have the time, it means the world to me. **_


	5. Rita Skeeter: The Parasite

The moment Rita "Mosquito" Skeeter was set on the path to becoming a journalist was when she was eight years old and sitting in the dentist's office over Easter break of all times, wishing nothing more than to master apparition as to be able to leave the dentist's office as soon as possible. No, invisibility, she'd settle for invisibility. A Disillusionment Charm seemed easier than apparition based on how her Mum talked about it.

There was a Muggle-Born girl in the corner that day. Rita could tell by the wand slightly sticking out of her pocket and she was perusing a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_. She had to be Half-Blood at the least, you wouldn't catch a Pure-Blood in such an obviously Muggle place like this. Gawd, why did the Muggle-Born girl in the corner have to stare at her like that? Like they were the only person in the world who could understand how embarrassing this was for her.

It was all Perfect Penelope's fault, she just HAD to run her big mouth about how she didn't trust potions and going on and on about the wonders of Muggle oral hygiene and blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah who cares?! And of course, because Mum didn't want to upset Perfect Penelope, Rita had to acquiesce to her step-mother's wishes and let a STRANGER stick his sharp instruments in her gums. There truly was no justice in the world!

She saw the way all the other families looked at hers - it wasn't Rita's fault that her mother was married to a Muggle, didn't they get that? And the two of them acted like it was everyone else who had the problem, what was wrong with them? It was _mortifying_.

Deciding to find something to distract herself, Rita picked through the years-old magazines and hid her face behind it, hoping the girl ahead of her would be called soon. It was within those pages Rita saw something she wouldn't forget anytime soon.

"_What Makes Sputnik Tick? The Inside Story of Khrushchev's New Toy"_

Perhaps it was the imagery of seeing a vivid, sinisterly-designed illustration of a silver ball with four legs, silhouetted against the night sky, perhaps it was the mistrustful speculations of what this tiny little satellite meant as to Russia's intentions, perhaps it was the punchy title, but something stuck with Rita about that article. But her name was called by the unfriendly-looking receptionist so she soon had other things to worry about.

In later years Rita would sit in amazement as she saw her fellow Witches and Wizards go about their lives, ignorant to this entire world they were missing. The news that this tiny little ball had sent shockwaves around the world, and no one seemed to care! Muggles (particularly in the states) seemed to create more and more and more tiny little ships in reaction to one stinkin' insignificant little piece of metal crap because they thought that Sputnik was the opener to an invasion.

Ridiculous really, all Sputnik was in the end amounted to was figuring out something boring like the atmosphere and stuff. Rita nearly fell asleep upon discovering that. But it was the WAY it was presented that made it fascinating.

Mulling this and other life experiences over, Rita logically came to a central belief system. And while she eventually more or less made peace with her Mother's lesbianism and begrudgingly accepted Penelope's affection when offered, Rita never forgot one thing:

"Knowledge is power. Journalists control how knowledge is put out into the world. Therefore, journalism is power."

**...**

"And then, a huuuuuuggggggggeeeee pumpkin suddenly started growin' arms an' legs an' junk and blasted that pet shop over there with its fire blasts from her hand!"

"Yes, of course." The grown-up Rita sighed, shaking her head as she scribbled away on a tiny notepad. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but how do you know specifically that this creature is female?"

"It had huge - well, you know -" the woman puffed out her cheeks and mimed something large with her arms spread out. "An' she had a minch, I swears on me life I saw it up close! You'd think a pumpkin would know more about proper landscaping, eh?"

The woman chuckled, winking suggestively as if Rita was in the know.

"Lovely." Rita replied dryly. "Well, Miss, uh-"

"Blake!" The woman replied cheerfully. "'Course, I hyphenated it when I got married, but I'm an actress so I can't hurt my brand recognition, y'know? Fu - OY! You get that wand outta me face, ya khyber! Don't ya dare obliviate ME! Yeah, that's right, I know what obliviating is! I got the badge, I'm in the know!"

"I'll leave you too it." Rita said. "Got a good eye-witness account, yes I dids. Farewell!"

Rita really hated her job sometimes. Like any great actor (I.E. not Miss Blake) she wanted to be known for tragedies, but instead Rita was defined by her comedies. As she bitterly observed as she apparated to The Leaky Cauldron for a stiff drink in order to forget what had become of her career;

"_If knowledge is power, if journalists control knowledge, and if journalism dictates the pecking order, then a bug am __**I**__." _


	6. Augusta Longbottom: The Survivor

At first, Augusta Flint had thought Gerald was joking. He had to have been putting her on, what kind of family had the surname "Longbottom?" Ridiculous. Even at the age of thirteen Augusta didn't suffer fools gladly, and let the young man in front of her know as such when he introduced himself to her. After finishing her rant about the frustrating nature of the innate immaturity displayed by the opposite sex, Augusta simply rolled her eyes and moved on with her life.

It was years at the age of nineteen while working at _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ she met Gerald again, although she didn't know it at the time. Augusta was currently enjoying her lunch break when a genial-looking man with a handsome handlebar mustache waltzed over and asked if he could eat his bratwurst at her table. Augusta was at first put off by his overt friendliness and distinctly German accent and mannerisms, what if his parents were one of Grindelwald's cronies who had evaded capture and snuck into Britain in the hopes of assimilating into civilized society? Or worse, one of those Muggle thugs - what was the word - Nah-Zees that had bombed London during those air raids?

However, Augusta merely nodded and mumbled something apathetic through her sandwich. It was during that lunch she learned far more than she deemed necessary from Gerald, including but not limited to him describing his job as an ice cream man in great detail, what his relationship with his parents was like, how fond he was of his brother, Algie, how he speculated that he and his girlfriend would eventually get married, and most damning of all, the pride in his old house, _Gryffindor._

Augusta at this point in her life had little patience for Gryffindors, they were far too impulsive and loud for her taste, and ultimately considered their house somewhat pointless, any fool could be brave. By far her least favorite of the four by a long shot. Meanwhile, Ravenclaw celebrated the beauty of silence, healthily encouraged caution, and endowed the intelligence one needed to actually succeed in life. As for her opinions on the other houses, while Augusta didn't always agree with their methods she respected Slytherin for encouraging similar values and thought Hufflepuff another way to say "underachiever" but that lot was also generally agreeable so got along well enough with them.

Gerald proved to be very inquisitive as well, after he finished pontificating about his own life he asked her the same. To this Augusta gave short, curt utterances in the hope of discouraging him. This strategy proved useless, he hung on to her every word and proved an annoyingly good audience member with his wide eyes and kind words, it made her positively sick.

When Augusta's lunch break ended she was more than happy to bid Gerald farewell indeed and with a disingenuous well-wishing on her part she walked away bemoaning the hour she could have spent in complete silence instead. No wonder this man worked in sugar, he positively exuded it. Such a sickeningly perfect fit.

It was to her horror the next morning she found Gerald in _Quality Quidditch Supplies_, asking about the types of brooms she could recommend to him. Apparently Algie's birthday was coming up in a few weeks and he wanted to get something special for his brother. Augusta did her best to be professional and point him in the right direction and be done with it, but Gerald just had to be complimentary and praise her judgment when she recommended their wares to fit within his budget. Augusta loved it when people praised her judgment, particularly when it came to financial advice!

Gerald left that day with a used (but functional) Cleansweep in hand and bid Augusta a cheerful farewell once again, adding that if Mr. and Mrs. Flint ever wanted some of that toffee Augusta had mentioned they were so fond of then to ask for him at _The Caramel Cream_ from eight to four on Mondays through Saturdays which stood across the street from _Gambol & Japes. _With that he left to enjoy the rest of his day off, humming merrily and looking rather pleased with himself.

The following day Augusta decided against her better judgment to take Gerald up on his offer and visit _The Caramel Cream_ on her lunch break. Just to see if he was on the up-and-up, of course. Indeed _The Caramel Cream_ was exactly where Gerald had said it was, and did have a pretty impressive collection of vibrantly coloured confectionaries, some even imported from Germany Augusta had never heard of, such as a candy bar called _Mund Schmilzt _that featured a cartoon of a burglar with black and white striped lederhosen accompanied with a word balloon exclaiming; "_Iss Jetzt Bevor Es Jemand Nimmt!"_

Augusta was examining this candy bar when Gerald strode over to greet her.

"Guten tag, Fräulein Flint! Are you considering buying a Mouth Melt?" Gerald beamed, gesturing at the sweet with his thumb. "Those are my absolute favorite! Very effective advertising - you couldn't go anywhere in my old neighborhood without hearing someone say _"Iss jetzt bevor es jemand nimmt!"_

"Really?" Augusta mused. "And what does that mean in English?"

"Eat now before someone takes it!" Gerald said, wagging his finger reproachfully. "I had such nightmares as a boy that _Ernst, Der Störende Einbrecher_ would take my candy bar away before I had properly eaten it."

"You must have had a very strange childhood." Augusta replied, raising an eyebrow. German people were so very strange.

"Ja, but when I woke up I always went into the secret stash I kept under my bed, so I survived. I feel kind of silly to have been scared of him as a youth, he really isn't that harmless." Gerald shrugged. Oh, that's lovely, he spoke about fictional characters as if they were real. Augusta's favorite!

"I'm sure he is. Anyway, Gerald, I have decided to take you up on your offer. What kind of toffees do you have in stock? My parents are celebrating their anniversary soon, and I wanted to get them something nice."

"Ah, about that, I'm afraid my lunch break has just started, Aug-" Gerald began, but seemed to rethink his train of thought. "Say, you know what? You were so helpful yesterday in _Quality Quidditch Supplies_, I really do owe you a debt of gratitude. Besides, I can always eat later. Follow me!"

_The Creamed Caramel_, it turns out, had a decent variety of toffees. Something in Gerald seemed to shift as he focused his attention to his actual work, whereas before he came across as overeager and jabbered on and on, when it came to confectionaries he spoke very confidently about what made his wares different from one another. Even his posture seemed to change, Gerald tended to bounce around a bit when maintaining conversation but on the job he was all business.

Eventually as Augusta decided on a reasonable-looking variety mixed with raisins (with a cute complementary gift-tag attached), Gerald assured her would be more than satisfactory, then pointed out the counter to Augusta and bid her farewell. Mr. and Mrs. Flint were touched to receive the box of toffees a few days later, although they were a little curious as to why she had sent it, their anniversary wasn't until December.

The next day, like clockwork, Gerald came into _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ asking if there was anything in the store that would be a good addition to buying a broom for Algie, and Augusta recommended him a care-taking booklet with a starter set of broom polish would be a good place to start given the Cleansweep's age.

And the day after that, Augusta came into _The Creamed Caramel_ once more.

"Ah, were the toffees not what you were looking for? Do you wish to return them?" Gerald asked pensively.

"No, they should enjoy it, my parents love raisins," Augusta mumbled evasively, her face turning red. "My lunch break just began - and I - I find you decent if at times overbearing company… well - I was just wondering if you wanted to… duuuuhhhhhh…...join...me?"

God, of all the times to be tongue-tied. After all those debate club meetings, what was wrong with her?

But to her relief Gerald didn't find her too embarrassing or frustrating, or seem put off by having a woman suggest going out as opposed to the other way around, and suggested maybe trying someplace that served monte cristos.

This went back and forth for a week or two when Gerald mentioned that he and his family were throwing Algie a birthday party over the weekend and asked Augusta if she would like to come as his guest. Augusta said she would check her calendar, and if there weren't any good operas that night she may stop by.

Finding the show currently hosted at _L'Opera Di Opulenza_ overly expensive and derivative (at least, that's what she told Gerald), Augusta did show up at Algie's birthday party. As she dreaded, the entire Longbottom clan really just as annoying pleasant and inviting and kind-hearted as Gerald was. And most of his family turned out to be in Hufflepuff, _what a surprise_. As much as she hated to admit it, Augusta did end up enjoying herself quite a bit.

Two years later to the day, Augusta awoke to find Gerald next to her, twiddling his thumbs and looking thoughtful.

"Gerald," Augusta began, "I think I love you."

Gerald turned his head and smiled. "I find you decent if sometimes overbearing as well."

Four years to the day of their very first lunch, Augusta was just about to lecture Gerald about the responsibility of adult relationships and his duty as a man to propose to her when she choked on the tiny hunk of metal Gerald had hidden in her box of toffee.

The Flints were at first wary of their only daughter marrying Gerald considering his career but given he was a Pure-Blood and seemed to have nothing but the best intentions regarding Augusta they gave their blessings. And were more than pleased to become grandparents when Francis William Longbottom, named for Gerald's mother and Augusta's father was born.

Aside from a brief stint as one of Hogwarts' better Defense Against The Dark Arts teachers of the late 1960's through the very early 1970's after being preposterously fired (long story there), Augusta became the successful and feared branch manager of _Quality Quidditch Supplies_. But although she deeply enjoyed lording power over her hapless employees, something in Augusta was telling her that perhaps her time had come.

On New Year's Eve Augusta made the resolution that, if she wasn't promoted to a higher up position within the year, she would tender her resignation from _Quality Quidditch Supplies_. Someone else deserved the opportunities she was afforded, Augusta was an investor in the still-successful _Creamy Caramel_, and had put away a nice little nest egg. But most importantly, she had barely gotten the chance to hold her grandson with all her job demanded as of late.

That night, Augusta returned home from work tired but satisfied. Kissing Gerald goodnight, Augusta summoned a large red quill her daughter-in-law had gotten her and crossed off October 31st, 1981 off the calendar. Today was a good day.

Although having taken it, Augusta still couldn't believe Longbottom was a real name.

_**Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to review, it really does make my day! ;-)**_

_**Who's Next? Riddle Me This:**_

_This character appears in every single book and film… is famously a red herring early on… we see a younger version of them at some point… has a unique Lego figure based on them… teaches at Hogwarts… and has some VERY divisive subplots. Especially later on in the series. Who is this character?_


	7. Rubeus Hagrid: The Keeper of The Keys

It was a blustery autumn night as the cloaked man pushed past the trick-or-treaters and residents of Hogsmeade. As far as the eye could see all the stores were decorated with kitschy items and floating Jack O'Lanterns organized by the mayor created a lovely orange glow over the area. Residents of Hogwarts had been granted permission to visit earlier that day to provide an unforgettable experience and stimulate the local economy, and were slowly milling out to enjoy a delicious feast back at their school, all excitedly chattering about what Dumbledore had planned for this year's celebration and admiring one another's costumes.

But the cloaked man didn't care about that. He had his sights set on _The Hog's Head_ to settle a score. His hand found the door.

***BOOM***

***BOOM***

***BOOM***

Grumbling all the way, the owner of _The Hog's Head_ poked out his weary-looking face, squinting at the amber glow outside of his pub.

"Waking me up at this bloody hour - who _are_ you?" Aberforth moaned warily.

"I've come to settle me score, Aberforth."

The figure whipped off his hood to reveal the horrible - the terrifying - the gigantic - the sweet-hearted face of Hogwarts' Keeper of Keys & Game, Rubeus Hagrid. However, he didn't look very happy at this very moment. Hagrid was a man with a mission.

"Yesterday, I believe you promised me a t-shirt if I could outdrink you in a battle determined by your very own brand of moonshine." Hagrid growled, poking his enormous finger into Aberforth's chest. "This sacred achievement is known as "The Grumbly Challenge". I remember winning that bet. And yet, it's been more than a day and I still have no t-shirt. How do ya care to explain that?"

"I've been delirious the whole day, Hagrid, give me a break!" Aberforth groaned. "That stuff I make may taste good, but it's just _awful_. Besides, none of my shirts would fit you."

"Do I need to insist on an unbreakable vow?" Hagrid snarled, fingering an arrow that was sticking out of his coat pocket.

"Blimey, Hagrid, you know I'd die if I didn't live up to that vow!" Aberforth cried out.

"I may have been kicked out me third year, but I'm more than aware of how the vow works." Hagrid replied curtly.

"Merlin's saggy left testicle, Hagrid, you're a real wanker, you know that?!" Aberforth glared at the imposing figure standing before him. "FINE - I'll fill out an order tonight and you can put it in the mailbox on the way out, okay?"

"Well, thanks Aberforth, that'd really be the bee's knees." Hagrid responded cheerfully, his expression changing from furious to genial so fast you would have sworn he was half shape-shifter in addition to being half-giant. Aberforth muttered something thankfully unintelligible as he jerked his head to indicate Hagrid could come in and shuffled upstairs to look through his files.

Bowing his head as he entered, Hagrid surveyed the dirty yet homely atmosphere of _The Hog's Head_, which was currently unoccupied thanks to the _"Closed, I'm Piss Drunk!"_ sign he had chuckled at but ignored the message of entirely.

"You know, Hagrid, all these years you've been coming here, I'm surprised you didn't go for The Grumbly Challenge a lot earlier." Aberforth called from his room upstairs.

"Well, the rules of The Grumbly Challenge says the 100th winner will get free drinks for the rest of the year! It was a simple matter of waiting for all the other barflies and kidding-themself lushes to take their shots at you before I swooped in to win my prize." Hagrid bragged.

Aberforth was silent for a full twenty-three seconds before shuffling down the stairs and giving Hagrid a perplexed, pucker-lipped expression.

"And you chose to win free drinks for the rest of the year… _In October?_" Aberforth asked. "Wouldn't it make sense to wait until January?"

"You underestimate how much I actually drink." Hagrid looked a little offended at this. "Besides, I have the honor of being the hundreth person to show up on the wall! Someone might have taken it by then. It's been a dream I've had since I was thirteen."

Aberforth shot the portrait of his sister a roll of the eyes, which Ariana returned in interest with the raising of her arms as if to say "really?"

Hagrid didn't seem to mind this, filling his flask with a bit of firewhiskey and humming a familiar tune to himself as Aberforth finished dotting the i's and crossing the t's on his request for a XXXXXXXXXX-Large shirt.

"DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO - say, could you top me off with some ale?" Hagrid asked.

"Can't you just get it yourself?" Aberforth grumbled.

"I could, but it tastes so much better coming from you!" Hagrid said innocently, batting his eyelashes. "Must be the love, I think.

"Or, the spite. Trust me, I'm actually the one who serves this stuff." Aberforth retorted, tossing an envelope Hagrid's way and filling up a glass before serving it, which Hagrid sipped the foam off of diligently.

"_Accio camera!"_ Aberforth said, and a camera soon hurtled down the stairs into Aberforth's hands.

"Why didn't you do that earlier with the forms?" Hagrid asked.

"No good reason. I didn't think of doing that. You have a higher tolerance than mine. Whatever you feel comfortable believing." Aberforth sighed. "Say cheese!"

"CHEESE!" Hagrid bellowed, showing all his teeth and holding his glass high.

"Came out quite nicely." Aberforth said, examining the picture. "Right, come with me to the old gallery."

Sipping his drink as he went along, Hagrid followed Aberforth to a sea of pictures with a collection of intoxicated witches and wizards posing to demonstrate that they had indeed survived The Grumbly Challenge, with ten pictures in a row. Hagrid's addition was pinned to the very edge of the bottom, with a shiny bronze one and two zeroes written on it along with Hagrid's full name.

"Blimey, I didn't know little Narcissa Black won that! Surprised it didn't turn her inside out." Hagrid exclaimed, pointing at the eighty-eighth winner of The Grumbly Challenge, who currently was whooping before turning as grey as her cardigan and throwing up.

"Like it? I have the set." Aberforth said casually. "Had to start checking their age a lot more aggressively from then on, she used an aging potion to qualify and my moonshine does NOT sit well with that, it turns out."

"What do you mean, you have the set?" Hagrid asked.

"Well, The Black Family currently holds the record for most members to participate in The Grumbly Challenge, and that's off blood relatives alone, mind you. Marriages make it even bigger!" Aberforth explained, smiling a bit for the first time that evening.

"Narcissa's sisters are here - and - where is it - here. Had to edit that one, she took her bloody top off right when I took the picture, puberty was kind to that family, let me tell you. Narcissa's cousin, Sirius, was a fun one, he got dressed up all fancy and brought a whole posse to cheer him on and everything. Most people just flip me off, but he insisted on doing a fancy photo shoot until he got it JUST RIGHT. I liked that. Sent him a copy as a house-warming gift. Sirius' brother, Regulus, is actually not that far-off from you, look -"

Aberforth indicated number ninety-six, which portrayed a skinny seventeen-year-old wearing quidditch robes who looked excited to finally being able to drink, The Quidditch Cup in one hand and his first drink as an adult in the other, a bit of moonshine still dripping down his lips, the hands of his friends slapping his back and pumping their fists in the air.

"And that's just _this_ generation - my humble challenge goes all the way back to ol' Phineas Nigellus himself, the seventh official winner of The Grumbly Challenge." Aberforth stood back and admired his collection proudly. "It's like I have my own personal copy of The Black Family Tree!"

"At least - a _non-edited_ version, I suppose." Aberforth sighed a little sadly, eyeing Cedrella Black's picture a little sadly, which featured her future husband in the background looking stunned that his girlfriend had done what he couldn't.

"But hey, life goes on. S'not my problem. Can I interest you in another free drink?" Aberforth said, seeming to snap himself out of his stupor of sentimentality.

"Sure, why not?" Hagrid said as he pulled out a booth so he could face the bar, which creaked in protest as he sat himself down. "Aside from tendin' the grounds, it's been a bit of a slow week, and I _am_ a winner. I can always go to Halloween dinner next year. 'Nother round!"

_**Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to review, it really does make my day! ;-)**_

In reference to the last chapter's riddle:

Hagrid DOES appear in every book and film (played by the incomparable Robbie Coltrane)

He was a red herring as the heir of Slytherin in _Chamber of Secrets_

His younger version appears in Riddle's Diary in _Chamber of Secrets_

Has a unique "giant" figure based on his likeness

From _Prisoner of Azkaban_ onwards Hagrid taught as the Care of Magical Creatures professor

Hagrid's plots, at least from what I've seen based on fan reactions, can range to positive such as Buckbeak's trial and pretty much anything he touches in _Sorcerer's Stone_ and _Chamber of Secrets_, to somewhat mixed such as his thing with Madame Maxime in _Goblet of Fire_, the chapter "Hagrid's Tale" (I personally love it) and the introduction to Grawp in _Order of The Phoenix_ in general. That and his fairly muted presence in _Half-Blood Prince_ and _Deathly Hallows_ and you get a character that has a really strong start but you kind of get the sense that J.K. had a difficult time making relevant as the scope and needs of the series expanded. I still love that big ol' lovable oaf though, and writing for him for the first time was a real treat, especially playing him off Aberforth.

_**Who's Next? Riddle Me This:**_

_This character is not what they appear… Is above the whole "Gryffindor and Slytherin are the only two houses, rah rah rah" thing… Is well known for dressing strangely... Has a VERY recognizable face… Has a famous catchphrase… Is familiar with werewolves... Has a bad history with Snape… And - this is a big one - was hired to teach Defense Against The Dark Arts. GIVE UP?!_


	8. Quirinus Quirrell:The Man With Two Faces

When he was a boy, the color purple had always captivated the young Quirinus. He couldn't exactly remember why that colour held so much meaning for him, his memories towards his early childhood remained rather hazy, but his best guess was a king costume his parents, Quinton and Quinn had bought him for Christmas or his birthday, he couldn't remember. The costume was purple throughout patterned with golden symbols and a large lion on the chest complete with matching pants, a floppy cape that flowed behind when running, a crown with a raven on it, and a cheap plastic _"Sword of Perseus"_ that his brother had won years ago with collected cereal box tops plus shipping.

Quirinus had loved costumes dearly as a child and owned many of them, but that one was by far his favourite. Whenever wore it he felt special and important. Whenever he put it on, "Mummy and Daddy's Little Prince" felt like he could do anything. Being squibs, they of all people respected power more than anything so when their first-born son showed signs of it at an early age they were positively delighted. Finally, their son could finally experience the life they had longed for ever since they could remember.

His childhood was spent looking forward to Witch Weekly's yearly tradition of printing a new version of "_Which Hogwarts House Are You - REALLY?"_, which usually coincided a little before his birthday in September quite nicely. He had taken this test once every year since he was seven in the hopes of figuring out what house he truly belonged in. The first time he had attempted this, he had gotten a Gryffindor. The second time, a Hufflepuff. The third, a Slytherin. The fourth, a Ravenclaw. This didn't bother Quirinus, he figured out that on his eleventh birthday

So on his eleventh birthday, young Quirinus enjoyed a hearty brunch with his family in a nearby Café named _The Elephant House_ and from there went off to King's Cross Station, a shiny new copy of _Witch Weekly_ from his parents which promised an updated version of The Hogwarts House Quiz concealed safely under his arm. Quirinus had decided on his seventh birthday that he would do the quiz while on the train for good luck.

The young lad was JUST exiting the barrier when a bunch of other excitable children jostled their way past him chattering loudly about The Hogwarts Express, one first year boy in particular knocking him aside with outstretched elbows to follow his mother. Glaring at his future peer ("_Hope we're not in the same house, the inconsiderate dolt could've knocked me over,"_ Quirinus thought spitefully), he soon found his parents and older brother, the both of them wished their parents goodbye, lugged their suitcases up the steps and were off to start their Hogwarts journey.

After Quigley caught up with a few of his mates, Quirinus squeezed himself into a spare compartment and shoved his suitcase onto the top and plopped himself onto a seat and unzipping his backpack, eager to finally put to rest the logical conclusion of the house he truly belonged in. But, disaster! The magazine was nowhere to be found! That rude boy must have accidently caused him to drop it! Sadly, his nerves prevented him from asking anyone else if they had a copy, he suspected it didn't do well for a boy to advertise an interest in a girl's magazine and he didn't want to make a bad impression on his first day.

Quirinus arrived at the train station even more anxious than usual, but that self-doubt turned quickly to annoyance as he saw the boy from before boarding one of the boats. During the whole affair, the boy insisted upon standing up as he let his fellows row as though he was George Washington crossing The Delaware. Quirinus sarcastically pointed out this comparison later to his roommates, only to be given expressions of deep confusion in return. It was on that day young Quirinus learned that jokes about Muggle art, particularly on Muggles from the states, were entirely wasted on his peers.

The proceedings to enter The Great Hall were just as wondrous as one would imagine, and Quirinus was so blinded by the majesty of it all he nearly forgot all the magazine until he saw that boy from before grasping it in his hands and perusing it interestedly. He knew it was is because on the cover it said in unmistakable purple writing,_"Happy Birthday To Our Little Prince, Quirinus, Mum & Dad"_. Furious, he bustled through the crowd of nervous-looking first years to snatch up his copy of _Witch Weekly_ with the intent to use it to beat this kid over the head with it at a later time once he had finished testing himself.

But about twelve kids away from reaching him the boy's name was called by the deputy headmistress and Quirinus saw his prized magazine be rolled up and shoved roughly into the billowing robes of the thieving tyke. Quirinus struggled in vain to remember the incantation that would accompany that Summoning Charm Quigley had told him about. Sure would be useful now.

During the summer break before Quigley's second year, Quirinus' older brother had warned him that taking too long with the hat was a bad way to start off, since it made you seem disloyal to your house and wishy-washy in general. Near-immediate placing was great for the house you were chosen for, but also ran the risk of alienating the other three off the bat. He recommended something like two or three minutes, that way you could make it look like you took some time to consider it but don't hold up the line for too long. Five minutes was the maximum amount of time you were socially allowed, even the kinder Hufflepuffs would kick you in the shins for keeping them from their feast.

Apparently this boy hadn't gotten the memo, since a solid twenty-three minutes went by with him stroking his chin and contemplating the ramifications of his choice. Seeing his opportunity to definitively seal the cap on the house he was going to pick go the way of the dodo, Quirinus decided to scope out his bored-out-of-their-skulls classmates. A quick glance at The Slytherin Table revealed at its center a face he was more than familiar with thanks to his mother's continued patronage of _Witch Weekly_, Narcissa Black!

Her famous beauty did not exactly translate to her while in rest, Narcissa was open-mouthed and drooling onto her head girl's badge, snorting occasionally but other than that entirely out of it, a sleep mask covering her eyes and her two friends holding her up by the arms.

And by The Gryffindor Table Narcissa's younger cousin, Sirius was quietly confiding with his fellow Gryffindors, placing bets as to how long this kid's sorting ceremony would actually take between ten minutes to an hour. Peter, having bet on ten minutes, was miserably holding his face in his hands, he had bet so much on money he didn't even have to begin with. James had his fingers crossed and was staring intently, if that kid finished in under twenty-five minutes he would walk away with the promise of access to free piggy-back rides and a giant poster of one of those motorbike girls Sirius was so fond of. As for Remus, he had quietly disagreed with the prospect of gambling and had requested a bathroom break from his head of house, which Professor McGonagall had allowed.

Quirinus was just about to nod off himself when the hat suddenly perked up and bellowed "There we go… **RAVENCLAW!**"

At that Narcissa fell onto the ground and everyone began to laugh, causing the boy to look confused, he had expected at least a little applause just like his peers. However, he was also a fan of physical comedy and thus pointed and laughed like everyone else that she had fallen on her fanny. Narcissa got up red-faced and furious, the expression she was giving that Ravenclaw boy making it abundantly clear that next morning she was going to use her newfound power as head girl to march up to her head of house and advocate for his execution. Or worse, expulsion.

The boy turned quite pale and quickly sat down between two massive sixth-years. Quirinus smirked. Serves him right, the thieving little ruffian. That entire bizarre event passed, after five more people were sorted Quirinus was called up and had the hat placed on her head.

"_Hmmmmm. A little indecisive, aren't we, Mr. Quirrell?"_ The hat whispered in Quirinus' ear.

"_I suppose so, you'd be the judge of that."_ Quirinus thought back. As paranoid as he could be at times, for some reason wearing a talking hat that covered his entire face seemed to not bother him.

"_There's a little streak of assertiveness I sense within you, Mr. Quirrell. Something that will do what needs to be done in order to get results where others would falter, much like a Gryffindor. Additionally, you strike me as very hard-working and not attention-seeking for the sake of it. Good trait for a Hufflepuff. On the other hand, you ARE very well-read and studious, plenty of brains to spare, you'd find a great deal of like-minded people in Ravenclaw. Speaking of brains, you strike me as particularly clever in a way not always associated with Ravenclaw. Perhaps Slytherin is the house for you after all. Hmmmmm, you're tricky to place. Not as tricky as some of the others I've had to place, but still a puzzle waiting to be put together."_

"_My results on The Witch Weekly quizzes say the same thing." _Quirinus thought sheepishly, smiling a bit at this. For some reason, speaking to this hat didn't seem to fill himwith worry like it did with most people. Quigley had described the sorting process as being "positively nerve-racking" but he was strangely the calmest he had been all day. Perhaps it was because no one except the hat could hear him, or perhaps it was because his thoughts didn't stutter where his mouth did, or perhaps the hat had sensed that he needed to be a little gentler with this young lad then the others, he had more than enough neurosis already. Whatever the reason, the hat carried on.

"_Of course, you do understand that those quizzes are not an apt description of WHO you are, Mr. Quirrell, don't you?"_ The hat whispered. _"I suppose I understand the appeal of them given my reclusiveness but remember, lad, those can only get you so far. I have a house in mind for you, but perhaps it would be best if you told me which one you wanted for yourself."_

Quirinus thought back to his childhood, searching for the image that best suited the house he wanted. Of course, none of those houses featured purple in their color scheme, but there had to be SOMETHING… Then Quirinus saw very clearly the costume he had loved so much as a child. He was running through the meadow. He stopped on a hill to survey his imaginary kingdom, with the cape waving behind him like a superhero… it went so well with the purple design… IT WAS BLUE… Add that to the cheap replica of what was surely Ravenclaw's Diadem and the choice was clear.

"Better be… **RAVENCLAW!**" The hat bellowed.

The great hall burst out into cheering, some grateful to have another young raven join their ranks and the other three houses grateful this one had taken under two minutes. The hatstall from before looked rather miffed to see polite applause be rewarded to this boy above him.

Quirinus slid off the stool waving and smiling nervously he joined the Ravenclaw table. His parents were going to be so proud. Now that he thought of it, being self-described as bookish and valuing knowledge as he did, this house seemed to be the right choice all along, color scheme be damned.

"Good show, good show! Say, how many letters are there left, James?" Sirius asked, applauding with the other Gryffindors.

"That one's last name started with a "q", which if I remember correctly is the seventeenth letter of the alphabet…" James pondered. "So… I'd say nine more letters to go."

"WE'RE GONNA BE HERE FOREVER! SO HUUUUUUUNNNNNNGGGGGGGRRRYYYYYYYY!" Peter whined, wringing his hands and sobbing. Sirius and James quickly followed suit.

"Boys, sorting is important!" Lily scolded them. "Remember how long you lot took, there's a great deal at stake for these first years!"

"They're serving steak?!" Remus asked brightly, who had just returned from his bathroom break.

…

Years later, young Quirinus had graduated as the class of '80. He was still short and still retained the stutter, but had grown a goatee and had rich, curly brown hair. Despite graduating with several impressive "Outstandings" on his NEWTS including History of Magic, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against The Dark Arts and Muggle Studies, he still lacked the confidence many of his employers were looking for and didn't have a strong enough family background in magic to stand out in Britain. Thankfully, four months ago Quigley had decided to throw his brother a bone and offered him a position of Safari Guide in Australia, which Quirinus thankfully accepted.

The job itself was pretty simple, show off the beauty of The Outback along with other parts of Australia and keep the customers safe from any beasts who might attack them. As time went on, he grew more and more comfortable in his position, since simple demonstrations of magic was usually enough to keep any aggressive creatures at bay.

So on October 31st, 1981, Quirinus apparated in Wagga Wagga, New South Wales to meet his new client. This one was apparently a big spender, had bought every single piece of equipment offered although strangely had only ordered one guide, according to him the entire team was on their way. He was also an actor by trade, had introduced himself by some fancy-sounding made up name. According to Quigley, he repeated _ad nauseum_ that he would "Spare no expense!"

Quirinus had calculated his portkey according to the coordinates and time provided by this strange man, only to find himself on top of a dusty cliff. This was truly going to be a glorious trip!

Or, at least, that's what he thought before he collided into someone mid-apparition and they he fell off, rolling down to the sand below. Thankfully, nothing major had been injured (although his backpack and the contents inside were all in pieces), but it smarted just the same. Quirinus hoped that no one had seen that.

All of the sudden a large figure helped himself up appeared at the top of the cliff, casting an imposing shadow over the edge of the cliff.

"Looks like we took quite a tumble there," The figure boomed from the top of the cliff, arms crossed and posing dramatically as the light in Quirinus' eyes shifted. He had heard that voice before...

The man smiled, showing off his brilliantly white teeth and curly blonde hair. "Don't worry, good chap, I'm fine, just caught by surprise is all. At least I didn't land on my face, _right?_"

All of the sudden Quirinus realized that he knew that voice from.

"Y-y-y-YOU?!"

It was the one, the only -

_**Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to review, it really does make my day! ;-)**_

In reference to last chapter's riddle:

"_This character is not what they appear..."_ \- By the end of _Sorcerer's Stone_, Quirrell is not only revealed to be the one after it all along, and is such is the one who broke into Gringotts, released the mountain troll, attempted to kill Harry by forcing off his broom, and killed a unicorn, all in the service of Voldemort.

"_Is above the whole "Gryffindor and Slytherin are the only two houses, rah rah rah thing..." _\- Although the text doesn't EXPLICITLY mention it unlike successors such as Professor Lupin and Professor Snape, canonically Quirrell IS a Ravenclaw. Neat!

"_Is well known for dressing strangely…"_ \- The all-purple robes and the turban, anyone?

"_Has a VERY recognizable face…"_ \- Can't get more recognizable than The Dark Lord on the back of your head, can you?

_Has a famous catchphrase…" - _TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! TROOOLLLLL IN THE DUNGEON_!_ *Pregnant pause* Thought you ought to know… *Passes out*. I rest my case!

"I_s familiar with werewolves…" - _I admit a bit of a stretch, but _Prisoner of Azkaban_ DOES establish that Third Years have to be familiar with werewolves, hence the origin of the famous "Turn to page 394" scene.

"_Has a bad history with Snape..." - _Snape continually harasses Quirrell under suspicion of being up to no good because Dumbledore told him. Also their school years overlap, but I never really got the impression that Quirrell was bullied by Snape by how they interact, more a working relationship gone sour.. You could infer that based on how much of a git Snape was in his later years at Hogwarts, I suppose.

"_Was hired to teach Defense Against The Dark Arts." - _After teaching at Hogwarts as, of all things, Professor of Muggle Studies for several years he took on the position of Defense Against The Dark Arts for the entirety of _Sorcerer's Stone_. For my money, as far as teachers who undertook this job go he lands as one of the better ones if you take the video games into account.

My fondness for him comes mainly from the PC version of _Sorcerer's Stone_, where he taught me one of my all-time favorite spells, "_Flipendo!"_ and the classic _"Lumos!"_ Yes, he still tries to kill you as the final boss, but since you use "_Flipendo!" _to stop him, I like to think that he was a good guy who gave Harry the tools he needed to stop Voldemort, and he was a poor soul who was possessed and forced to do bad things. But is he given all the sad, tortured fanart and the legions of fangirls who insist he was a good guy all along? Noooooooooooooooooooo!

As for the book version, I think he's probably the main Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher who gets the least amount of focus out of all the people we see holding it. We only see one class of him teaching in passing and they're described as "kind of a joke". He is a memorable presence for sure and is a great villain in retrospect, but since he's so tied to the events surrounding the stone and is killed off to boot he's very much a product of what I like to call the "Mark Brandanawicz Syndome." This is where a character who WAS really important disappears or just wasn't needed by the narrative anymore and is rarely if ever brought up in the narrative again. That's why I consider him such an underrated character, he's like the only person from the first book who never makes a significant impact or appears again for the rest of the series. Maybe that's why you don't see him show up that much as a side character in other fanfics, people just forgot he was ever there.

I especially like the detail in the movie when he and Harry first meet in Diagon Alley and Harry attempts to shake Quirrell's hand Quirrell doesn't shake Harry's hand back, implying he knows not to touch Harry.

_**Who's Next? Riddle Me This:**_

_Well, you guys probably knew this was coming… This character is blonde… Likes their reflection a LITTLE too much… And has trouble doing the "write" thing. See you guys next time!_


	9. Narcissa Malfoy: The Undecided

"Question Eleven... _Are You A.) A Blonde or B.) A_ \- how do you pronounce that? No-regret? Noyer-eht?"

"I think it's pronounced _"nore-ette"_.

"I'll go with that. Doesn't matter anyway, just want to have my options in case it comes up… No, I am not "B" A Noirette, I am "A", A Blonde."

"What happens if your hair is a different color then given?"

"Pick the one that's feels the most right, I guess. Question Twelve: _Girl, we all know you're a Slytherin and proud, but if you had to what would what you say is your secondary house? A.) Gryffindor, B.) Ravenclaw, or C.) Hufflepuff?_ I'll go with "B".

"Question Thirteen..._ In situations where your back is pressed up against the wall, do you A.) React instinctively, B.) Try to talk your way out of it, or C.) Think outside the box?_ A."

"Question Fourteen… _Your opinions on The French? A.) Overhated for sure, they make for great lovers, B.) Likable in small doses, C.) No strong opinion or D.) Cheese-eating surrender monkeys, the whole lot of them. _Hmmm. Debating between "A" and "B", so I'll go with "C". France makes for a fantastic vacation, though."

"Question Fifteen… _Finally, it seems silly to ask, we know, but we have to ask. A.) White as bread or B.) Black as night?_ Well, that one doesn't require a lot of thought! "B", duh. Okay, let's see what we got!"

All of the little boxes filled in, an illustrated swirl of purple smoke filled the page of this month's edition of _"Witch Weekly"_, carefully calculating what the right answer was. Zelda Zabini was pleasantly surprised to see the answer she had been looking for.

"How'd you do, love?" She asked, admiring the magazine's declaration of her character. Her partner on the couch next to her hadn't responded, seemingly staring at their result with absolute disbelievement. At least, that's what Zelda presumed, the magazine was held directly in front of their face.

"Well, this can't be right! I mean, they can't be serious." Zelda's complained, fingers digging into the edges of the cover.

"Well," Zelda began jokingly, "I mean, the writing staff at Witch Weekly must have put a lot of thought into this quiz, I think they're spot on myself."

With that, the magazine was flipped around to display the image of the smirking image of Bellatrix Lestrange, held up right next to the face of Zelda's friend.

"Does _this_ look spot-on to you?" Narcissa Malfoy said, a tiny smirk betraying her attempt at being serious.

"Yeah, they really condensed the essence of your personality in one picture." Zelda chuckled. "I especially love that poutiness, Bella, real sexy."

"Oh, just you shut up, Zelda!" Narcissa ordered. "You're _way_ more like Bellatrix then me, and _I'm_ her sister!"

"Actually…" Zelda flipped her own results around to reveal the image of Narcissa smiling softly with a raised eyebrow to contrast her friend's current expression of dumbfoundedness. "Looks like I'm more you then you are you. _Oops._"

"This issue must have been jinxed improperly, that's what it is." Narcissa muttered to herself. "I really must have some strong words with whoever wrote this."

"Well, identity crisis aside, it was fun to do these like old times." Zelda said, stretching her arms and yawning.

"Yeah, I haven't taken one of these since I was sixteen!" Narcissa sighed, neatly setting the magazine on the tableside. "_Being_ in all these trashy magazines all the time must have taken all the fun out of them. I think they must be bringing out the old stuff because of the party tonight."

"Are you sure we'll have enough time to clean the old place up?" Zelda asked, tossing her own magazine on the couch.

"Sure we will." Narcissa assured her, dusting off her dress and standing in front of a currently empty space. "This was just about killing time until the help came. And.. they should be coming….. Now!"

With a series of cracking noises, several dozen house-elves apparated into the drawing room. Zelda started, she had never seen so many in one place before.

"My parent'sestate is hosting a party tonight, and anyone who's anyone is going to be there. Guests begin to arrive half past five, so that gives us seven hours to set up." Narcissa instructed. Her tone now seemed far more business-like and matter-of-fact.

"Thankfully, the decorations are in those boxes over there, and it shouldn't take too long to set up. However, it wouldn't hurt to give the house another do-over before they arrive. Most of you will be on house duty which entails cleaning the house and the grounds, split it up amongst yourselves. The rest of you will be preparing food for the evening, best start early to prepare the trickier dishes and set up your work space. Same drill as usual for last year's Halloween party, only remember the theme of this year is _"Autumn Breeze"_. If you have any questions, direct them to the head house-elf. If they can't answer your question, ask me. I will be going through some personal artefacts upstairs with Miss Zabini while you are all doing this and getting ready for tonight. Any questions?"

The house-elves hailing from The Black, Lestrange, Malfoy, and Rosier families all nodded in agreement. Narcissa clapped her hands and pointed to different areas of the house.

"Remember, _Autumn Breeze_, _Autumn Breeze_." Narcissa chanted. "Oh, wait, almost forgot, Dobby? Dobby? Where is that elf?"

Narcissa heard a clearing of the throat and felt a tug on her dress.

"Here, Mistress." Dobby said.

"Ah, good, Dobby, very prompt of you, very prompt indeed." Narcissa said. "Now, I want you to go back to Malfoy Manor, take this magazine, put it on my desk and write me a reminder on the calendar to give Witch Weekly a piece of my mind. Then try to find Lucius, I've been trying to get hold of him all day. Got it?"

"Yes, Mistress." Dobby squeaked. Tucking the magazine under his bony arms, the house-elf snapped his fingers and disappeared into thin air. Seemingly satisfied with today's work, Narcissa marched up the stairs to perform some long-overdue fall cleaning, Zelda in tow, both of them holding boxes.

"Isn't it weird?" Zelda asked.

"Hmmm, Mum and Dad really should take better care of their house, they spend so much time at their other properties… What's weird?" Narcissa said, frowning at the carpet of dust settled all over the banister.

"Well, you know, Cissy, being back in your old childhood home." Zelda prompted, waving a spare ars about. "It's weird for _me_, and I only stayed the night a few times. If it wasn't for all the new pieces of art, I'd have sworn it was the '60's again."

"Well, yeah, I suppose it's bringing back a lot of… ummmmm… what's the word - _'nostalgia'_, being here." Narcissa conceded. "Don't think I've dropped by since my wedding reception, now that I think about it. We usually host parties and family get-togethers and things at Malfoy Manor or Orion's place, so I guess I've never really felt the need to come back."

"So you never visited your folks?" Zelda pondered. "They never come round for a cup of tea?"

"Well - I - I - you know I've been busy with - with - charity work and running the business and maintaining a good public image and the sort." Narcissa mumbled evasively. "Besides, they're with Draco now, and you don't see your mother or father much, do you?"

"If I knew who my father was I'd sure like to meet him." Zelda pointed out. "As for my mother, well, me and her check in at least every month, just to make sure the either of us haven't gone and done anything foolish."

"Where was she on the last few marriages, then?" Narcissa grinned slyly.

"Fair enough." Zelda shrugged. "Guess like her, I'm somewhat unlucky in love. But I've gotten Blaise out of it, so I can't complain. We can't all be as lucky as you, little-miss-power-couple. Never believed in fairy tales until 'Bloy' came around to dazzle us all."

"For your information, Zelda, the official name for me and Lucius' relationship is 'Lucissa.'" Narcissa lectured, observing a series of green symbols in the shape of an "x". "Not 'Nalfoy'. Not 'Lack'. Most certainly NOT 'Bloy.' Lucissa. Ah, looks like my mother already took a pass at this hall. On to the next one!"

"What about that one?" Zelda asked. Narcissa stopped dead in her tracks.

"What are you talking about?" Narcissa asked. If Zelda could see her now, she would have seen Narcissa's eyes began to dart around shiftily.

"That one, over there." Zelda pointed out a door that looked as though it belonged to a different house entirely. Unlike the formerly handsome ebony paint that adorned the other doors, this one featured a sort of color not all that dissimilar from Narcissa's hair. Unlike the others which looked fancy and imposing, this one featured several scribblings and designs on the door, making it look lived-in and inviting by comparison.

Narcissa strode forward, her finger brushing over a heart carved into the door that said "N.B + L.M. = Love".

"I forgot all about that." Narcissa muttered softly to herself, smiling a little.

"Yeah, real sweet!" Zelda said, jiggling with the doorknob to no avail. "Is that YOUR room, Narcissa? Oh my gosh, the memories really are flooding back! I'm going in! _Alohomora!_"

"I don't think that's so-" Narcissa began, but Zelda had already successfully casted the charm and barged her way in. The backside of the door now read;

_**The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened.**_

_**Enemies of The Heir, Beware!**_

Zelda observed that much like the door itself, Narcissa's childhood room seemed to have not changed a bit ever since she had last lived there. The walls were a dark green with black and white stripes, adorned with several posters featuring a variety of threatening and non-threatening boys, most of whom were musicians, pictures of family and friends, a bookshelf, a broken grandfather clock, and an eternally frozen poster depicting a smiling line-up of the 1963-1969 roster of The Ballycastle Bats. If the calendar was to be believed, the current date was August 6th, 1972, and last Friday Narcissa had taken her cousins Sirius and Regulus shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley and meet up with the man who would become her husband for dinner afterwards.

"Nice posters!" Zelda proclaimed, admiring The Ballycastle Bats poster with great interest. "Oh, wow, is that the 1960-1969 lineup? Oh, man, those were good years. And this is coming from an Arrows girl! Mind, my current boyfriend is on The Wasps, so I can't really talk game with him like I want to."

"Yeah, it all fell apart when The Falcons poached McGinnis." Narcissa sighed. "He, Drake, Gordon, Brown, Grayson, Kelly, and Todd were best mates but then he left and you can't get them all in the same room for all the tea in China."

"Bloody disgraceful, the way it went down." Zelda sighed. "Oh, well. Live and let live, that's what I say. Those kids they brought in are pretty good, I guess. Say, I thought you told me you didn't like the comedy stylings of Herschel Krustofski!"

"I don't!" Narcissa blurted out. "He's horrid! Bellatrix got that one for my birthday and put a permanent sticking charm on the wall. Now, is it quite all right with you if we pull out of memory lane, I've got quite a busy schedule and-"

But before Narcissa could finish her sentence and Zelda prepare her rebuttal, a gust of wind blew through the window neither woman had noticed was open, sending the curtains flying open and a gust of wind sending loose papers on Narcissa's old desk higgledy-piggledy. For some reason this seemed to set something off in Narcissa, her face turning flush and eyes becoming the size of dinner plates. The room itself seemed to become darker, a blueish-white light illuminating the silvery, almost liquid-like curtains, the view outside looking desolate and lonely.

"_Alohomora Rectify."_ Narcissa commanded, waving her wand at the cursed window. The spell was of no use, if anything the cursed window seemed to shudder, opening and closing like some horrid mouth.

"_Alohomora Rectify!" _Narcissa screamed.

"_Alohomora Rectify!"_

"_ALOHOMORA RECTIFY!"_

But the spell was of no effect. Zelda stepped forward to calm her friend only for the window to go -

_*Crack!*_

And the cursed mirror seemed to fall away into the mists as three tuxedoed rotting hands came out of the dirt, all adorned with golden wedding rings -

"No!" Zelda cried out. "This is impossible-"

Sudden realization came to her. _It IS impossible-_

"_Riddikulus!" _Zelda bellowed.

_*Crack!*_

The Boggart that had been haunting the two women suddenly vanished into thin air, as though it had never been there at all. The real-life window showed a blustery shower of rain outside, dark grey clouds dominating the sky. There was a few moments of silence as the two took in what had just happened.

"DOBBY!" Narcissa yelled, catching Zelda by surprise.

_*Crack!*_

"Yes, Mistress Narcissa?" Dobby gulped.

"What do I keep on telling you - keep all the windows closed at all times unless I SPECIFICALLY TELL YOU OTH-ER-WISE!" Narcissa ranted furiously. She strode over to the inspiration of her Boggart's form and slammed it shut with all her might thrown into it.

"TELL ME, WHY IS THAT SO HARD FOR YOU IDIOTS TO UNDERSTAND?"

A framed photo posed on the desk, which had been wobbling as is, fell and crashed onto the floor, shattering the frame and the glass protecting it.

"They were, Mistress." Dobby explained, talking very slowly as to not upset his mistress. "But this room - 'tis been enchanted so no one can enter unless they've been in it before, very powerful magic has been performed here. We simple House-Elves could not find it before. Dobby has forgotten about this room, and as such didn't instruct anyone else to enter and close it. Should Dobby punish himself, Mistress?"

He really looked quite pitiful. Maybe it was Zelda's dumbfounded expression, maybe it was Narcissa's sense of compassion, or maybe it was the embarrassment that usually comes from losing control of one's temper, but the red in Narcissa's face drained and she visibly deflated.

"No. That isn't - that won't be necessary, Dobby." Narcissa ordered demurely. Return to your normal duties. This never happened. Don't tell anyone, especially my parents. Thank you for explaining things to me. You may leave, Dobby."

_*Crack!*_

Noticing the broken photograph and frame, Narcissa summoned the photograph into her palm and before levitating the broken glass and wooden pieces back onto the desk, repairing it as she did.

"Narcissa, I-" Zelda began.

"I think it's best if you leave, Zelda. Sorry for yelling." Narcissa muttered, now sending all the loose papers neatly into boxes for sorting. "See you at the party tonight."

Full of questions but knowing she'd get the answers to no more of them, Zelda picked up one of the boxes to place in the living room, gave a pitiful glance to her friend, and left.

Waiting a few moments, Narcissa picked up her box and exited the room, fully intent on moving on, but stopped right outside the door frame. She put her box down and gazed at the photo of three girls clasping each other's shoulders, one of which was her in the middle, all decked out in Slytherin Quidditch robes, laughing at something one of them had said.

Narcissa seemed to shake herself out of the stupor, folding the picture up before tucking it in her wallet, and shutting the door, vowing to never so much as look at this room again.

_It's time to outgrow childish things,_ Narcissa thought bitterly.

_**Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to review, it really does make my day! ;-)**_

In reference to last chapter's riddle:

_This character is blonde…_ This one really speaks for itself.

_Likes their reflection a LITTLE too much… _Narcissa is named for a man named Narcissus, who was a hunter in Greek mythology. He was a very beautiful young man, and many fell in love with him. However, he only showed them disdain and contempt. One day, he saw his reflection in the water and fell in love with it. He either committed suicide since he couldn't be with himself or accidently drowned while looking at himself depending on the version you read. Ain't Greek Mythology fascinating? You'd think being the son of a river god and a nymph would make him a stronger swimmer.

"_Has trouble doing the "write" thing..." _\- I really did cheat with you guys on this one! This is in reference to what Narcissa was raised on and her environment making her have a skewed sense of right and wrong. Hopefully, she can get her act together when the chips are down!

_**Who's Next? Riddle Me This:**_

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, next one will be the character you think it is, I promise… This character is blonde… Likes their reflection a LITTLE too much… And has trouble doing the "write" thing. See you guys next time!_


	10. The Showman

-Gilderoy Lockhart! Ever since he was an infant, young Gilderoy knew from an early age that he was meant for great things. The only Wizard when his two sisters were Muggles, handsome beyond belief, and blessed with gorgeous handwriting any aspiring calligrapher would be jealous of, there was no way he could be anything less than special! And funnily enough, soon after meeting him, many people asked if he was. But not because they _admired_ him.

Upon entering Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he already began setting records as the longest-ever recorded hatstall in the school's history! He told anyone that would listen that he hadn't even meant to break that record, he was merely contemplating the ramifications of his choice, and that this was a decision that required intense, careful consideration. Not merely for his own benefit, no no no no no, but for what house he felt he could do the most for in return.

Due to an influx of Ravenclaw boys that year requiring two rooms, Gilderoy and Quirinus did not share a room during any of their time at Hogwarts, but merely passed one another in the common room and attended the same classes from time to time. Quirinus quickly deduced that Gilderoy was all bark and no bite and still bore a grudge from their first meeting whereas Gilderoy never really even noticed his classmate to begin with.

As Quirinus and Gilderoy were separated by the extreme paths of introversion and extroversion respectively, the latter lad's attempts to prove himself a hero grew far bolder and far more dangerous to himself and others. The most glaring instance of this being the debacle that had occurred during a match where Ravenclaw was taking on Hufflepuff for The Quidditch Cup. Just as both teams were neck-in-neck, The Ravenclaw's excellent team of Chasers performed a fantastic rush past Hufflepuff's Beaters and Chasers, sinking in a goal that put them in the lead, and the fourth-year Gilderoy had caught The Snitch at the exact same time.

At that moment, cheers rose from eager eagles to the sky only to turn into screams of terror as an enormous green face manifested itself over The Quidditch Pitch. You see, young Gilderoy had actually been able to figure out the spell that allowed Death Eaters to perform the dreaded Dark Mark and altered it so it would project the image of his face instead. Perhaps if he had been given enough time, he could have figured out how to change the color of _"Morsmordre!"_ from sickly green to navy blue, but that was not the case.

The Minister at the time, Harold Minchum immediately feared that this was an assassination attempt on his life and called his team to arms. Dozens of Aurors burst forth into the stadium to escort him to the nearest fireplace and find whoever had casted the spell, barking orders at the people in the stands, quarenteening the area, and unsettling the student body even more. However, a cursory glance at the faux mark itself by one Alastor Moody and his subsequent reporting to his superior revealed the truth.

"WHO IN THE BLAZES WOULD BE STUPID ENOUGH TO DO THAT?!" roared Minchum, the veins in his neck throbbing, his fists trembling in anger, his eyes shut in seeming denial.

Gilderoy weakly gulped and tried to look as annoyed as everyone else. It didn't work.

**...**

The following weeks were by far one of the worst of Gilderoy's life. He was chewed out by the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team, his head of house, the deputy headmistress, the Auror who had figured out it was him, and the Minister of Magic himself all in a roll, each one progressively more angry with him then the other.

The student body at large wasn't any happier with him either. Several Ravenclaws signed a petition to have Lockhart's status as an Eagle be taken from him and be forced to wear the hat again so they would never have to answer to him again.

Hufflepuff, already hurting from the narrow loss of The Quidditch Cup wouldn't even look at him, knowing that if they did the urge to strangle him would take over their impulses.

Gryffindor, generally considered the most Muggle-friendly house, were disgusted that anyone, especially someone with a Muggle father, would ever be ignorant enough to attempt a facsimile of the image used in accordance with The Death Eaters and let Gilderoy know as much.

As for Slytherin, well, those who agreed with Gryffindor were put at direct odds with those who had the temperment to cast it to begin with, leading to a great deal of nasty Slytherin-On-Slytherin-With-The-Occasional-Other-Houses-Involved duels, resulting in thirty-seven spell related injuries in addition to those already hurt in the chaos of the match and mass detentions across the board ensued.

By the end of the school year, everyone, especially the poor staff who had to put up with it, was miserable and house unity was at an all-time low. Ravenclaw won by a landslide of 3140 points, since the other three houses, especially Slytherin, were so abusive towards other houses and one another that there were whispers of an audit being sanctioned by the Ministry to weed out potential You-Know-Who supporters and destroy their Wands. Narcissa Black and her circle of friends had either outright refused to attend on principle or were banned in the fear of what they would do to Gilderoy on the way back, there were so many people saying one thing or the other that no one knew for sure.

Gilderoy's character was perhaps best summarized by four Gryffindors, who were all lounging about as they saw the young boy's books get knocked out of his hands, only for him to protest that while yes he had started a disaster, he had also caught the Snitch, and that had to be worth something.

"You know, boys," Sirius Black, who was nursing an eye as black as his name and a cast for his arm full of girls' signatures, "Something just occurred to me about this whole petition Ravenclaw set up. I think he would be a bad choice for every single house. Like, he's not smart enough to pull off being evil and is a Half-Blood to boot-"

"He's stubborn as hell and pigheaded just like me, sure, but at least I can back up the hype!" James exclaimed.

"He's useless, which there are already enough of in Hufflepuff!" Peter cried out.

"He's not smart enough to be a Ravenclaw, that's for sure." Remus responded from behind a book.

"I just… hate him." Lily sighed. The four boys started, turning around to see their classmate sitting at the table behind them.

"W-what are you doing here, Evans?" Peter asked.

"It's my library too, you know. I shouldn't have to deal with this, I have finals coming up." The redheaded witch sighed, packing up her things in her bag and heading off.

"The world really has gone crazy." James observed.

**...**

Gilderoy himself soon learned he was better neither seen nor heard during this time, although got back to attempting stunts like this in the future very soon. These included rather brash displays such as posting copies of his family tree around the school to conclusively prove that he was a blood relative of Rowena Ravenclaw (on his father's side no less!) and vowing to Professor Flitwick that he would become the youngest ever Minister of Magic when attending his Career Advice meeting, to which the frustrated Warlock could only shake his head and gently suggest a career in modeling instead.

And so, as Gilderoy graduated (with a collective sigh of relief following his departure, particularly from the beleagured staff), he swore that he would prove himself worthy of their praise, that he would prove to the world that he was a force to be reckoned with.

…

**Four Months Later, The Australian Outback, All Hallows Eve**

"I AM SO LOST!" Gilderoy sobbed, his trembling hands shaking his indecipherable map. Crumpling it up, he ran up the cliff side, wanting so very much to be back home.

It was there he collided with a man who would change his life forever.

_**Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to review, it really does make my day! ;-)**_

Fun Fact: Lily's line was originally going to be said by Narcissa, but I decided that last second Lily made a lot more narrative sense. Plus, I really like the idea of Harry inheriting his extreme dislike of Lockhart from his mother.

Sorry for trolling y'all, but the next riddle I really am going to follow through and write about who I mean to write about. Can you forgive this poor writer a little bit of fun? Next chapter is called "The Overseer." Check out Page 6 of _Sorcerer's Stone _if you're having a little trouble figuring it out, this character sits comfortably somewhere between the "D" and "F" list of relevance.

_**Who's Next? Riddle Me This:**_

_This character has QUITE the resume! He is the the child of a god. He slays monsters. He has flying shoes! And he did all this… for a girl._


	11. Ted Tonks: The Overseer Part I

*Ca-Click*

*BOOM*

**Then**

A light flashed, the thunder cracked and the winds howled outside. It sounded as though the gods themselves were doing battle. However, the carnage outside meant little to the six-year-old boy. He had the covers draped over his body like a tent, and was immersed in a book about Greek Mythology his father's good friend, Natalie, had gotten him for his birthday. One hand steadily held a flashlight, the other hand turned the pages.

_My father was a god. My mother, Danae, a mortal. Danae loved my father. However, my grandfather, Acrisus hated my father and the child of his that she carried. An oracle had told him that should his daughter bear him grandchildren, they would challenge him for the throne and put an end to his wretched life. Acrisus was furious that Danae loved a god, and fearful for his own life, so he locked my mother with me still inside her in a wooden box and cast us both out to sea._

_Danae was so afraid, so scared for her life and for mine, but had to be strong. She persevered, delivering me in a tiny box no bigger than a coffin. My father's voice is the first thing I remember. So much of my childhood is fuzzy, but I remember this clearly. He whispered to the both of us in our darkest hour, promising that we would be safe. That he wanted so dearly to be with us, but just couldn't touch the mortal plane. But he would always be with us. That someday, this child born from the highest of blood, born in the lowest of places, would walk alongside the gods._

_My mother told me later when I was ready to hear it that even shut up in that casket, tears in her eyes and sweat beating down her brow and covered in her own blood and afterbirth that even in her blackest night, that I had filled her heart with light, and I had been worth it. It is her flame that kept me alive and made me a man. The only women I've ever met who could ever match that flame are my sisters, my step-mother, and of course my wife-_

"Ted?"

*Ca-Click*

"Znnnnnnnnrrrrrrrrrrrrxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx…." Ted snored unconvincingly.

"Come on, I know you're up." Eddie sighed testily. "What's wrong?"

"I'm….. sleep. Reading. Yeah, that's it." Ted lied through his teeth. "And sleep-talking, of course. How can I help you, Mr. Eisenhower?"

"Birth control." Eddie muttered.

"What was that?" Ted said.

"Nothing. Just… just... I dunno." Eddie sighed, scratching his neck. "I saw a light from downstairs, just wanted to make sure you're doing ok. You weren't crying or anything."

"Thanks, Dad." Ted said. "Thunder woke me up, but it's like Grandma says, a little noise never hurt anyone."

"Brave kid. Must take after your Mom." Eddie shrugged his shoulders. "Anyway, good to know you're doing okay, and get some sleep soon, okay? Okay? Okay."

"Hey, Dad?" Ted asked hesitantly.

"Yes, son?" Eddie sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Why were you, uh, downstairs?" Ted asked.

"What?" Eddie didn't seem to have heard what his son had said.

"Oh, you're usually out like a light by nine thirty, I was just asking about why you-"

"No, no, I heard what you said…" Eddie seemed to be taken aback, he was more rambling than explaining. "I… I was thirsty. When you get to be my age, you can't just ask your Mommy or Daddy to get a glass of water for you, you gotta get it yourself. And the thunder woke me, too."

"But I've been up for a long time, wouldn't you have seen the light from my room as you passed it?" Ted wondered.

"Jesus, all these questions, Melissa is right, those comic books really do take over and rot your brain…" Eddie seemed really agitated now, he was shaking his head and looking anywhere but his son. "Look, can we please just talk about it tomorrow? I've got a splittin' headache and I still have to go to work and everything. I was real tired and didn't see your stupid flashlight. There's your explanation. Happy now?"

"Sure, Dad." Ted nodded his head, looking a little frightened by his Father's anger.

"Night, Ted."

"Night."

And with that, Ted watched as Eddie closed the door and made his way downstairs.

Ted looked outside of his window, lost in thought, the winds continuing to cry out and the rain pouring fiercely over the town. His eyes fixed on a grey cloud in particular.

Ted had read this story at least thirteen times by now. That's why he wasn't afraid of thunder. Even though his teacher had told him otherwise, he liked to think thunderstorms happened because Zeus was teaching his son how to throw lightning, and the booming was the appreciative laughter of the father over his son's work.

*Ca-Click*

*BOOM*

**Now**

"Ted? You up?"

Ted grunted. He was still pretending to be asleep.

"Just wanted to let you know breakfast is ready, and that the recital is at 7. I was thinking we could meet with your family there, and go trick-or-treating afterwards?"

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmsoundsgood. I can make that work. Just gimme four more minutes."

"Also, we need more essence of dittany. We ran out the other day."

"Sounds good to me."

"And don't forget to get batteries for the camera!"

"Sounds good to me!"

"And-"

"What NOW?" Ted growled, teeth gritting. God, it was barely morning and she was already screeching at him… Ted lifted his head up to see his wife of eight years looking incredibly crestfallen.

"I… I packed a Hosties fruit pie for you. Like in those comics. I know they're your favorite." Andromeda whispered, bowing her head. Ted sat up, facing her but avoiding her gaze.

"They're called Hostess." Ted muttered. "Must have tol' you a million bajillion times. You sound like a damn fool when you say it wrong."

"Ted, I'm so so-" Andromeda began, but Ted brushed by her and let himself out.

"Why don't you make one for Greg?" He retorted, slamming the door behind him. He rushed past the kitchen, grabbing his lunch and tossing it into his backpack before disapparating to his job.

That look Andromeda had given him still danced around his mind as Ted appeared a little outside the auto shop. His anger and the pit of guilt growing in his stomach refused to abate, resulting in every little thing his employees did seemed to rile him up all the more. He voiced his discontentment later as he assembled his employees who looked confused and worried as to why their generally genial boss looked so peeved.

"Well? What are you lot all looking at?" Ted snapped. "Rand is on our ass, scooping up all our customers, all having a good laugh at our expense, and what do I find my lot doing? Lying about, gossiping like little girls! Don't worry about me, worry about yourselves! I might have to fire someone if Rand wins. Grow up already and get back to the jobs I'm paying you for. God, what a bunch of frickin' wimps. I'm a grown man. I can take it."

Ted threw his backpack against the wall, sending several pictures crashing to the floor. This seemed to snap him out of his funk. Ted's formerly hardened expression softened as he hurried over to see what had fallen. He could tell it was one of his mother and father because the picture wasn't moving. When Ted had discovered the potion that made this possible, he had used it for so many of his comic books, pictures he took of the wizarding world, even drawings he made by himself, but for some reason felt guilty by tainting his family's image with his distinct magicness.

The other picture harmed wasn't even a picture of a human being, it was just an image of Andromeda's ultrasound. Carefully fishing out the image from its broken glass and shattered frame, Ted examined the first ever image ever taken of his daughter. Well, technically second, Andromeda had the original somewhere back home, but for Ted he couldn't care if it was the second, first, or three-hundred and ninety-fourth copy of the picture, because it was his.

Ted tried very hard for the rest of the work day to get the image of what Dora's face would look like if she had seen the way he had acted that morning. After finishing the lemon fruit pie with a guilty gulp, he decided to prove for once and for all that he wasn't so far gone. After looking around quietly and shutting the blinds around him, he rolled up his sleeves, closed his eyes, reached his palms out, and took a defensive stance.

_You've just gotten your letter to Hogwarts… you're a wizard… you've just seen the posting of the new members of The Quidditch Team, you've made it… that Slytherin girl, Andromeda, remembered your dog's name, you told her that ages ago… you passed your History of Magic O.W.L… you're going to be a DAD…_

_Andromeda's kissing another man IN YOUR OWN HOUSE-_

_Expecto Patronum!_

Nothing.

Ted opened his eyes. He expected to see a flash of light, at the very least a hint of silver mist, to no avail. Disappointed, Ted leaned back in his chair to look through the window, as if eyeing his past self that night oh so many years ago.

"What the hell happened to me?" Ted whispered.

**Thank you SO MUCH For Reading! Be Sure To Follow/Favorite, And Don't Forget to REVIEW! It really does make my day.**

My homework assignment to you is check out the story of Perseus. Seriously, what a cool guy! Real top of the list Greek hero! Ted's greatest contribution to the HP universe is… having the ability to have the name Ted.

Page 6 of _Sorcerer's Stone_, in fact, features an Anchorman named Ted. There's a theory floating around that this guy and our Ted are the same person, which I really dig. It certainly would make his sly comment on how the events of November 1st are "most mysterious" a lot more interesting. He knows what's up!

_**Who's Next? Riddle Me This:**_

_This character only appears in one book, but is teased in Sorcerer's Stone in the strangest of places… Went on to have a bigger role elsewhere… AND is a member of the same club Snape and Sirius belong to._


	12. The Criminal

**October 28th, 1940 - "Two Days Until All Hallows Eve"**

With a squeak of wet shoes creating friction with Isaac Crouch's marble floors signalling the last Auror's arrival, the meeting truly began.

"Thank you for coming, everyone." Isaac began simply, standing up at the edge of the round table. "I am sorry to contact you out of the blue and tear you from whatever celebrations you have planned with your families in a few days time, but this is far too important. Scrimgeour?"

Isaac's deputy nodded dutifully and stepped forward.

"Yesterday, you may remember that I briefed the department that we had reason to believe that Grindelwald is planning something for Halloween." Reginald explained. "However, I what I _didn't_ tell you is that our intel tells us not only does he have a party planned, but he may be hosting as well."

A flurry of chatter went across the room, nervous whispers ranging from disbelieving to fearful. Isaac frowned, while Reginald simply allowed his subordinates to calm themselves.

_Back in my day, anyone caught whispering during a briefing would soon find their backsides reddened and their minds obliviated. _Isaac mused.

_Give them time, Mr. Crouch. Most of them are just kids. Many have new families of their own. _Reginald argued back.

"You may notice some of our brothers and sisters missing." Reginald continued as the silence diminished. "We have reason to believe that the office has been infiltrated by Grindelwald's followers. No spies found among our ranks yet, but Mr. Crouch and I are not convinced that they wouldn't betray us if they had the opportunity to prove their loyalty to his cause. So, if you have found yourself here, then congratulations. You've earned our trust."

"And if you haven't…" Isaac whipped out his wand, appearing to cause the air on top of the table to wobble, leading to gasps of horror at what they saw on the table. At first the Aurors at the table thought their boss had presented them with a corpse. However, the person was still alive. Unfortunately for them. Most disturbing was the flesh itself, which was writhing horribly, at times seeming to clear of burns and present clear flesh tones, then rot all over again.

Several Aurors spilled their drinks or fell out of their chairs or covered their mouths. The grimmer of the groups' eyebrows raised or stood up in their seats, clasping the edge of the table. Isaac seemed nonplussed.

_You didn't tell me you were going to do this, Isaac._ Reginald thought furiously.

_It's the only way to make them see. _Reginald's boss thought back.

"You may be wondering why I sent out those Halloween cards." Isaac explained. "I gifted them not only to wean those dim enough to not understand the code, but to lure out any spies who have infiltrated our fair ministry. As you apparated onto my property, you were subject to new security measures that I am testing out. In the unlikely event that a spy were to inform any unsavory characters of my whereabouts, my collection of exotic beasts would have torn them limb from limb. That rainstorm? That was to unmask the masked, as this would-be assassin learned the hard way. Poison to kill a snake, how apropos."

"What th- ARE YOU INSANE?" One of the Auror apprentices roared, jumping in his chair, tossing away his wineglass and throwing his hands up in the air, as though afraid they would burn off from resting on his arms.

"Hold your tongue, Cygnus!" Gretchen Valentina barked.

"COME OFF IT, WOMAN, THE MAN'S A MENACE!" Cygnus yelled. "Everyone told me The Crouch Family is mad, I just was too stupid to listen to them!"

"You will NOT do this to me in front of everyone, you little brat!" Gretchen snarled, her face growing red with embarrassment and anger.

"That's enough. Let the boy speak, Gretchen. So, you question my methods?" Isaac asked.

"YES! YES I DO!" Cygnus bellowed, attempting to shimmy his jacket off without using his hands. "YOU DOUSED ALL OF US IN POISON!"

"My apologies, Mr. Black. I'm afraid I may have misspoken." Isaac admitted. "It isn't actually poison. The proper term is _Ardenti Carnem_. Forgive my lecture, anyone here undoubtedly must have learned this in their Seventh Year of schooling, but I used to teach Potions back in the day. In its diluted form and with a friendlier name slapped onto it, _Ardenti Carnem _is most commonly used to remove warts and acne. However, I have found a new use for it."

"What, shaving that ugly mole off your chin?" Cygnus scoffed, earning a glare from his mentor and the more senior members of the table.

"Exposing those hidden among us who would like nothing better than see our empire fall." Isaac said. "You see, I have privatized many security measures, that's how my family made our fortune! We all still felt safe. But then the Percival Graves Incident happened in New York. The MACUSA's Auror department, somehow taken over by the worst dark wizard of all time."

Even though many if not all knew snippets if not pored over transcripts of the events of The Credence Barebone Case, they unlike their comrade knew better than to interrupt Isaac when he was making a point.

"I knew in that moment that New York could never happen again." Isaac declared. "After years of puzzling and puzzling, I've finally found a solution to the problem we were all afraid to ask: "how do I defend myself against an enemy pretending to be someone else?"

Isaac paused as if to invite someone to wonder aloud "I don't know, Mr. Crouch, how _do_ I do that?"

"That's where my invention comes in." Isaac continued. "My variant of _Ardenti Carnem _will specifically target anything or anyone that alters their form to suit their own sinister purposes. This includes all sorts of shapeshifters, including users of the polyjuice potion, Animagi, Werewolves, and-" - he gestured towards the badly burned prisoner on the table for dramatic effect- "Metamorphmagi."

Everyone at the table began whispering again, with the looks on everyone's faces ranging from disgusted to brooding to intrigued. This time, Isaac didn't seem to mind. Great men rarely became great without controversy.

"Then… it didn't hurt _us_?" Cygnus asked, pulling his coat back on tentatively.

"No." Isaac responded. "All my tests have shown that aside from mild itchiness, you should all be be unaffected. Wash your clothes and bathe, it won't be a problem. Which begs the question, Mr. Black - why are you so worried for _your_ wellbeing?"

Isaac walked over to Cygnus, coming within inches of his terrified face.

"Any_thing_ you care to tell the rest of us about yourself?" Isaac growled dangerously. "Any_one_ in your family that may object to the use of my new potion?"

Cygnus eyed the prisoner out of the corner of his eye and gulped.

"No, s-s-sir."

"Don't stutter." Isaac demanded. "Now, if I were you and had dishonored my master, insulted my employer, and disrespected my colleagues with your impertinence, I'd apologize."

"I'm sorry, sir." Cygnus whimpered. "It won't happen again."

"To everyone, Mr. Black, loud enough so they can hear. Including poor Gretchen."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Valentina. I'm sorry, everyone."

"You may sit down now, and stay quiet unless spoken to. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Cygnus returned to his chair, carefully avoiding everyone's gaze.

"As I was saying," Reginald continued, "You've all proved yourselves to be trustworthy in my and Mr. Crouch's book. You are to be commended for this. We have carefully strategized the best way to utilize your unique talents, and will find a personalized folder detailing your assignments. Only you are to read them, and will catch fire if anyone other than yourself, myself, or Mr. Crouch lays a hand on it. Destroy immediately once committed to memory."

Reginald whipped his wand out and distributed the manilla folders to everyone at the table.

"I'm... sorry about how we've had to conduct ourselves as of late." Reginald lamented. "But this could end Grindelwald's uprising here and now. We've enjoyed the luxury of not having his direct forces touch Britain. Hundreds of our brothers and sisters across the globe weren't so lucky. Hundreds of millions of lives could be saved before they're ever put in danger. This could be our only shot."

"And after that debacle at Grindelwald's Paris Rally back in '27, it appears we finally have the opportunity to show our people that their defenders deserve their faith." Isaac chimed in. "I have heard rumors that Grindelwald is a Metamorphmagus. Now, I am unsure if _Ardenti Carnem_ works on them when they are not metamorphosized, but I perhaps if he comes quietly I'll have the chance to test that. Otherwise, Minister Spencer-Moon has authorized us to use any means necessary."

"Now, I impart one final warning upon you." Isaac said, the light of the fireplace casting malevolent shadows across his face. "Any attempt to sabotage this operation - any at all - and you will end up just like this - ah - not sure if it's a man or woman, it's so hard to tell with these things. Thank you all for coming; keep in touch and tell no one what has transpired here."

With that, The Aurors understood that they were dismissed. Reginald was the last to leave, imparting a pitiful glance at the figure who looked so very much like his former classmate at the academy being escorted to Azkaban. With the last of The Aurors having left the mansion, Isaac retired for the night.

"Tea, Master Crouch?" His House-Elf, Wenky, squeaked.

"Well, I do feel the meeting went rather splendidly." Isaac said. "Soon, god's work will be done. Gellert Grindelwald won't know what hit him."

…

Somewhere in the countryside of Britain, Gellert Grindelwald was meditating in a dark chamber, only his mustached lip occasionally twitching. He had seen that Isaac Crouch was close to death; whether it was his lungs or assassination that did him in he knew that soon the armies would be scattered without their general.

_My lord, some of our Bulgarian forces have arrived. _One of his servants whispered in his mind.

_Good. Give them food, medical attention, proper space to set up camp, the warmth of someone's touch, anything else they may require. They deserve extra rations for their recent efforts, _Grindelwald replied.

_They will be immortalized. No one will forget October 31st, 1940. I swear it._

**Thank you SO MUCH For Reading! Be Sure To Follow/Favorite, And Don't Forget to REVIEW! It really does make my day.**

In reference to the clues, Grindelwald is first mentioned in Sorcerer's Stone as a cute little easter egg to make Dumbledore sound cool by defeating the OTHER big bad guy before Voldemort. Leave it to J.K. to take a chocolate frog card and turn it into a major antagonist. Went on to have a bigger role elsewhere… main antagonist and title character of the second installment of Fantastic Beasts with three more films* on the way big enough for you?

*Hopefully. I mean "FB3: Um… Let's Talk About That Credence Thing In More Depth, Shall We?" was delayed for a year because of the less-than-stellar critical reaction and lukewarm box office, but I digress. I'm still going to see it, who's kidding?

_**Who's Next? Riddle Me This:**_

_You know what? I need to recharge the ol' batteries a bit. YOU tell me which characters you want next! I just might go for it. Leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this chapter and some advice on who I should pick next. It can be anyone except someone I've covered before, and cute teenage Tom Riddle doesn't count. Adios Thunderheads!_


	13. The Slave

Kreacher looked at his reflection in the framed photograph of his youngest master sadly. This picture depicted a young Slytherin boy, likely ten or eleven. He was standing beside his older brother and youngest cousin, neither of whom seemed very excited to be there but appeared to be putting on a happy face for Regulus' sake.

If Kreacher remembered correctly, it was he had taken the picture that day. Mistress Bella had promised to be there, but was far too incoherent from what she had taken for courage the previous night. Master Regulus himself seemed incredibly excited for the day, if he felt any discontent at his relations' less-than-enthusiastic reactions to his first day of Hogwarts it sure didn't show in the picture. Or, maybe he was hoping to cheer them up. Regulus was such a good boy.

Regulus almost didn't make it into the world. Kreacher had been there when his Mistress had given birth to him a few weeks earlier than expected, and came out weak. There was talk among the other house elves about him dying before his time. But Kreacher didn't believe them. He knew that Regulus was strong. Kreacher stayed by Regulus' side at all times throughout the day and night, refusing to abandon his post for a total of three weeks and four days. And eventually, he was proven right.

Being the youngest male in the family, he had his lion's share of responsibilities to take on for sure, but as the oldest it was expected that Sirius would inherit the title of head of The Noble & Most Ancient House of Black. Master Orion and Mistress Walburga were thrilled, another great heir to cement their status! His Uncles and Aunt seemed more or less excited, it gave the girls someone else to spend time with. And the girls? Nothing short of an unbreakable vow could have cemented their loyalty to their cousin any more.

Bellatrix's attitude in particular surprised Kreacher (she was so mature for her age). Mistress Bella had always been a bit of a tomboy in her early years and in the words of her mother "seemed to lack any sort of maternal instincts or fondness of children whatsoever". Additionally, Regulus represented yet another reminder to Bellatrix that she was one more rung down on the totem pole in terms of what she would inherit.

However, Bellatrix took to Regulus very quickly, often treating him more as a brother than a cousin, doling out sage advice and imparting her view of the world onto him. In the famous picture taken showing off The Black Five, it was Bellatrix who had been trusted to carry that precious little bundle. Everyone else was so fussy! But Mistress Bella out of everyone there was able to call everyone to order and calm Master Regulus down.

The wizarding community loved the dynamic of The Black Five, embracing them as the children of the royal family were embraced by Muggles. That picture proved so iconic that it was decided by Orion to have it retaken every year at Regulus' birthday to commemorate the celebration of the height of Black Pride. In total, eleven sequel pictures were produced.

Regulus grew up a lonely child. He occasionally spent time with the children of The Master and The Mistress' friends but lacked a lot of the experiences that other children did. But Kreacher was there for him. Kreacher was his friend. Whenever Regulus was lonely or overstimulated, Kreacher would play with him, and listen to his problems. Kreacher understood.

Being the youngest, Regulus unfortunately had to wait the longest to attend Hogwarts, to inherit the legacy set by all the other Blacks that came before him. Whenever Bellatrix returned for summer or holiday breaks, she built up how wonderful it was, how many friends he would make, how he would finally break out of his sheltered existence and get a taste of the real world.

"And be just like you?" Regulus asked during one Easter Break.

"Exactly. Just like me." Bellatrix promised, patting him on the shoulder and flashing him a smile.

On Kreacher's wall, there was a newspaper clipping which featured the last interview Regulus ever gave when he was fifteen years old, and was being asked what made him want to become a Quidditch player. Pausing in a thoughtful fashion in order to properly convey his answer, his eyes almost seemed to come alive as he went into his answer.

"_When I was a kid, I wanted nothing more than to go to Hogwarts. That was - was like, THE place. I begged Bella to take me with her. I threw tantrums, held my breath until I turned blue in the face because I wanted to go so badly. But my parents told me I had to wait, that I'd go when I turned eleven. And so every birthday, I mentally calculated how long I had left to go until Hogwarts. No matter how great the day was, it still wasn't time to go to Hogwarts."_

"_But three months after my fourth birthday - in November. Yeah, it was November. So my parents told me they had business in Hogsmeade, and told me and my brother to dress warmly. Narcissa tagged along. I was hecka excited - I could see Hogwarts from there! We had breakfast at The Three Broomsticks, and my parents asked me if me, Sirius, and Narcissa were at all interested in seeing any Quidditch games. We of course said yes. I didn't think much of it."_

"_Then, we went to Madam Rosmerta's fireplace to go back home, but something seemed to go wrong, and we came out in Horace Slughorn's fireplace instead. I was confused, who was this mustached dude staring at us and why were we in his office? Mum and Dad said hi to him, he introduced himself as Professor Slughorn, and mentioned knowing our cousins from his classes. He mentioned overseeing Slytherin's Quidditch Team, and asked us if we were all interested in meeting the team."_

"_I couldn't believe it, no one could really do the place justice, it was truly amazing. We were all blown away. And then I enter the great hall, and I see a table decked out in emerald and silver. And all of the sudden, I hear a cry of "SIRIUS! REGULUS! CISSY!" and who should come over but Bellatrix! And she's dressed in Quidditch robes! She's the new Chaser! Bella being Bella, you know she just had to be theatrical about everything, mentioning how she wished we could come and see her. Then Slughorn chimed in and said that he had a few spare tickets if the three of us were interested. I think that may be the point I peed my pants."_

"_Seeing the game with Sirius and Narcissa was amazing enough, but seeing the name "Black" on those robes shining out for all to see, and all the goals Bella scored that won Slytherin the match… Oh man, that was the best. We even got to hang out in The Slytherin Common Room for the afterparty. It wasn't the only Hogwarts game I got to watch, but it was by far my favorite. Me and Sirius talk about that day all the time. It really made me grateful that I have a brother and a cousin who likes doing this Quidditch stuff with me. I realize I'm not really unique for liking Quidditch in my family. But it's what makes me ME. And I hope to do it as long as they'll let me."_

Kreacher had been as surprised as anyone that Regulus had decided to quit school in his Sixth Year, being the only Black in centuries to do so, but after discussing it with his parents that he had personally been invited to be trained to join The Death Eaters by Bellatrix on the day-to-day under the watchful eye of The Dark Lord, they happily agreed to support his decision. He soldiered on and fought the good fight for two years, growing into a man his parents could be proud of.

And then one day, Regulus came back home and shut himself up in his room and refused to speak of what had caused him such distress. No matter how many times Kreacher asked, Regulus refused to explain what had happened, insisting on keeping it inside. He took what happened to the bottom of that lake.

No matter how many times his Master and Mistress ordered Kreacher to tell them what had happened, he simply could not. The popular theory that circled around was that Regulus had been killed for betraying The Death Eaters or had commited suicide, assissted by Kreacher in some way. Such lies, such nasty, hateful rumors about Regulus! He was a hero, but Kreacher couldn't tell anyone. How he wished to tell the truth, to clear Regulus' good name and save his poor mother the heartbreak… but no. That would undo all his master had done by telling the truth.

More than two years have passed since he died. Kreacher still works for The House of Black. His Mistress still lives after Master Orion passed away. However, Mistresses Cissy and Bella don't come calling anymore, and Sirius could care less about any of them anymore. But Kreacher knows someday that when he dies and his head is placed alongside his mother, he will see that young boy once again.

As Kreacher set up Halloween decorations and sharpened a knife in Malfoy Manor, however, he was able to momentarily banish these thoughts from his head, however. The Noble House of Black still required his help. And tonight, he would finally meet a boy who he had longed to meet for over a year. Young master Draco.

**Thank you SO MUCH For Reading! Be Sure To Follow/Favorite, And Don't Forget to REVIEW! It really does make my day.**

_**Who's Next? Riddle Me This:**_

_Who broke the chain?_


	14. Interlude: Jenny's Jams

"...Once again, this has been _Jenny's Jams_, coming back to you soon, after we play The Zombies' song that's great and more from '64, _She's Not There_. Don't touch that dial!"

"Hey, Jenny, great work as usual. Listen, can we talk?"

"What's up, Marcie? I have like two minutes until I come back, and I REALLY have to pee."

"I'll make it quick. You didn't do anything special for Halloween."

"Oh shoot!"

"Oh shoot" is right, Jenny!"

"Guess I forgot, sorry!"

"You guess you FORGOT!? There's been orange decorations and skulls everywhere, how COULD you forget! This day only comes once a year, you could do something real special to tie in only once!"

"I've been busy with moving into my new apartment and working and this show, for one. I promise I'll mention something about Halloween real soon."

"Okay, okay, okay, just wanted to let you know."

"Not sure why your panties are in a bunch, I think only like one person follows us anyway… Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee!"

*Zoom*

*Zip*

*Fumble*

*Tinkle*

*Flush*

*Fumble*

*Zip*

*Weh-ooh weh-ooh*

*Splash splash*

*Zoom*

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnndddddddddddd we're back!"

"What a song! Really makes me miss the sixties. Here's hoping you folks out there have a Happy Halloween! Next up: _Daydream Believer_ by The Monkees, followed by a real "graveyard smash!"

Sorry, guys. Next one's about Sirius.


	15. Sirius Black: The Prisoner

**All Hallows Eve, 1981**

The crowd was going wild. Jazzy Jem's Nightclub had a very special show exclusively for the afternoon, featuring the best-looking, most studly, most sexy performer they could muster.

"I LOVE YOU, THE STUBBY BOARDMAN EXPERIENCE!"

"I love you too, ma'am. Give it up for the band, everyone! Boos & ghouls, I have a _very _special song to perform for you all tonight before I go trick-or-treating tonight as hearts burn hotter than the fires in your jack-o-lanterns. It's by a very thematically appropriate group called "The Zombies." The song... is about a girl. A very special girl. I'm sure you're all wondering "who is it?"

All the witches in the club leaned forward, eyes bulging and hearts a-pounding.

"_I'll_ never tell." Sirius Black grinned mischievously, accompanied by groans of disappointment and longing. "And a one - two - three-"

The band began to play a mellow yet also melancholy tune entitled _She's Not There_. It was a Muggle song, however due to the name of the band and being a Wizard/Muggle neutral piece was able to pass as a Wizard group easily. As Sirius began to sing, he thought back to nine years ago, and why the song meant so much to him.

**1972**

"What do you mean, you don't wanna be a dog?" James sputtered, waving his hands around madly.

"I just don't see the point." Sirius replied, measuring a line of fabric with a tape measure. He was purposefully avoiding having his gaze drift towards his two-way mirror in order to properly extract what he needed. "Besides, I'm doing my own thing for Halloween this year. Remind me to thank your folks for sending me the material I needed, I'll reimburse them at King's Cross."

"But I thought the four of US were gonna do something as buddies!" James cried out. "We have the perfect number of people to pull it all off!"

"You'll do just fine with three." Sirius said, cutting the material with scissors now. "From what Remus told me about it, Dorothy has three friends. There's three of you. Pick your poison."

"But Sirius, you're always telling me how much you love animals!" James protested. "Wouldn't it be cool to dress as man's best friend? Or you could even defy conventions and go as Dorothy!"

"So you're telling me my options are to either go as an animal not smart enough to recognize its own reflection and a Muggle farmer from Kansas who murdered TWO innocent witches?" Sirius observed. "_Nooooooooo thanks_, pal."

"I admit I haven't seen the movie - never even SEEN a movie, for that matter -" James added hastily. "- but the way Remus described it, it was an accident both times, plus those witches were evil and kinda deserved it."

"Not the way I heard it." Sirius scoffed. "I asked my Uncle Cygnus about it, and he told me that involuntary manslaughter is still counts. And he was an Auror, he knows his stuff."

"Hmmmm. Have to ask Remus what he thinks about that." James murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It's weird, isn't it, thinking about how Muggles view us, isn't it? Or better yet, maybe we should all get together and check it out! Remus and Peter's folks are so happy they made friends, I'm sure they'd love to have us sleep over. And my house isn't exactly great right now, my parents are still mad about the itching powder I put in their shampoo, I think they'd welcome a night without me."

"Oh, that sounds lovely, James, it really does." Sirius sighed. "But… things aren't great at _la casa de negro_, either. My parents are really peeved at the moment, and aren't really in the mood to host you guys, let alone have me hang out with any of you."

"How bad is it?" James asked.

"I... don't think I can see any of you until school starts." Sirius sighed mournfully. "And I can't talk about it with you until we're alone, someone could hear me at my house and it's super hush-hush. I'm so sorry, James, I hate not seeing anyone."

"No need to apologize, dude, it's not your fault. Okay?" James insisted. "I am disappointed, but look at it this way; we got together almost every weekend and some weekdays in June and July, and school is only two weeks away. Your parents can't be mad forever. Or knowing them, will find something else to be angry at and forget all about the ban."

"That's true. They always find something." Sirius cracked a bit of a smile. "Besides, Reggie missed me while I was at school, we got to spend a lot of time together this August. He's the one who actually gave me the mirror you're using now, you know."

"Really?!" James exclaimed. "No way. Did you find one of those kooky artifacts in your Dad's stuff?"

"Actually, the set was a gift from my Mum." Sirius explained. "Weirdly thoughtful of her. Reggie got really sick when he was a kid, had to be rushed over to St. Mungo's, I couldn't see him and the poor kid was really upset. Crying every night… It broke the poor kid's heart to be away from us. So, she bought this rare set of two mirrors at Borgin & Burkes - Knockturn Alley store, you probably haven't been there - anyway, she gave me one and gave Reggie the other so I could calm him down. She acted like an actual Mum for once in her life, sent me real mixed signals. I mean, she sent a House-Elf into Knockturn Alley unaccompanied, but still."

"Your Mum can't be that bad, she was nice to me when I came over." James pointed out.

"Trust me, James, you _don't_ know her." Sirius scowled. "My Mum was nice to you because you're Pure-Blood. She was nice to you because you're not hard to explain at Lawrencia to members of the so-called "Sacred Twenty-Eight." Remember how when we first met, I had a black eye? I got that from trying to run away from the group, because I didn't want to turn out like the rest of the lot of them. I had no idea, then, that I had another option other than Slytherin."

"Geez, I'm sorry, man, I didn't know. What happened?" James wondered.

"_You_ happened." Sirius said simply. "You and Remus and Peter - you guys made me realize I wasn't the only one who had problems. That I... had another path."

"Well, glad to be of service." James gave a deep bow. "Just glad we can still talk. Ooh, I forgot to tell you, guess how Remus discovered this movie to begin with?"

"His Mum? I think she might be a Muggle, he told us his parents were Ravenclaws but Remus got kinda squirrelly when I asked him about what she did." Sirius guessed, admiring his work. The robes had come out quite nicely. Now to sew on the letters. "Besides, don't you think it's weird the four of us have all been to one another's house except Remus'? I at least have the excuse of my Dad calling Peter porky and insulting Remus' complexion last time they were here, the dude is definitely hiding something."

"I think his Mum's a Muggle too, but that's not how. Believe it or not, get this… _Evans_ showed him." James whispered, as though it was a dirty secret.

"Ow! Son of a bitch, that needle stings… wait, WHAT!" Sirius went from sucking his stuck forefinger to his jaw dropping remarkably fast.

"Yeah! Remember the end-of-year sleepover we had at Peter's house, and Remus couldn't come?" James asked.

"Yeah, I do. He said something about his parents making plans to go on a vacation to Majorca for a week." Sirius reminisced.

"Well, when I asked his parents about it they said they went to Scotland, and only for a weekend." James said. "When I confronted Remus about it, he admitted that he was actually going to sleep over with that night Evans and didn't want to cause any drama."

Sirius whistled. "Wow. A sleepover with a GIRL. Dude has mad game. I had a few sleepovers with my cousins back in the day, but I don't think those count. You think Remus and Evans - you know..."

"Remus told me they're just friends. I'm _so_ sure that's all he hopes for. It's totally unfair, chicks dig scars." James said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, I certainly hope not, it'd be pretty uncomfortable to do the deed with Snape looking at you the whole time."

"BWAHAHAHA! Wait, wait, wait, James, are you telling me Snivellus was there too?!" Sirius choked out laughing.

"Yeah! Remus told me that she was having a party at HER house with a bunch of her friends and invited him before you did." James sighed. "So, of course, Snivellus was there, along with Lewis, MacDonald, McKinnon, some Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls, and a Gryffindor girl I don't know, I think she may be the sister of that Hufflepuff Head Boy. The name escapes me, but you know which one I'm talking about, the American bloke?"

"Yeah, I remember him." Sirius answered evenly. "That's so weird, I've gotta ask Remus about all of this myself. I mean, they had to interact at SOME point, they were the only two blokes there!"

"Actually…" James responded guiltily. "Longbottom was there too."

"No way! That tricky bitch!" Sirius exclaimed, slamming his fist on his desk. "At first I thought it was a coincidence that she was throwing this party the same day as yours, but inviting Longbottom, poaching your pal… I am convinced that she did this party in order to pre-empt yours."

"Yeah, you're right!" James fumed, snapping his fingers. "That's why Remus lied about it. He probably overheard them rubbing their hands and cackling evilly and felt guilty for abandoning his true friends. You know, I do not understand what exactly their problem is with me. I'll bet it's because you got everyone in Gryffindor house to sing me Happy Birthday and she was the only one who didn't join in. God, when I say that aloud, I realize how lucky I am to have such a great friend like you."

"My pleasure." Sirius smiled. "I just had to do something for my buddy's big day, Peter told me he didn't want anything too big, and Remus went to Hogsmeade to spend the day with his folks on his. Hope it made up for the eleven birthdays I didn't know you were even alive."

"Aw, shucks, thanks man, means a lot to me." James blushed. "You just wait to see what _I_ do for yours this November."

"Can't wait." Sirius chuckled. "Remember, lots of strippers. Not so many that they outnumber the guests, but just enough so everyone feels satisfied."

"And any male ones for the gals and you?" James pointed out.

"Oh, yeah, can't leave them out." Sirius agreed. "How about you be the one to give me a lapdance, you can be the latest in a long line of whatever your Mums' maiden name is."

"Ha! Touché." James laughed, unloosing one of the buttons on his shirt mockingly. He turned his head at a noise Sirius didn't hear. "That's got to be my Dad getting home. I gotta go, but anything happens, don't be afraid to come calling again."

"I'll keep that in mind. Good night, James."

"Good night, Sirius."

Sirius smiled as he put the two-way mirror back in its case. Taking a cursory look at the clock, he realized he'd been working on his Halloween costume for four hours. Yawning hugely and stretching his arms out, the young boy got out of his chair and withdrew one of the Muggle records Peter had bought for him last Christmas and thumbed through for his favorite, the _She's Not There/You Make Me Feel Good_ Decca.

With a bout of soft whirring, the song began to play.

"SIRIUS! SIRIUS! TURN THAT OFF!" A voice bellowed over the music. The young seamstress ignored it, engrossed in his song and his work.

"SIRIUS, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! MUM'S COMING HOME SOON!" Regulus cried out from his room. "IF SHE HEARS YOU PLAYING MUGGLE MUSIC SHE'S GOING TO BLOW HER TOP!"

Considering this for a few moments, Sirius reached for the record player - and turned it up louder. Nobody told him what he could and couldn't like. All he cared about was the look on people's faces when they saw what he had created.

**...**

"Rrrrrrrrrrroooouuuuuuuuuuugggggggghhhhhhh! Rrrrrrrrrrroooouuuuuuuuuuugggggggghhhhhhh!" Peter growled, posing with his costume in front of the mirror.

"You know, Peter, I have to say… I think you were born to play the role of The Cowardly Lion, man." James grinned, adjusting the straw in his outfit and making sure his hat was slightly crooked. For the occasion, he had used copious amounts of hair dye to turn his hair the color of straw. "Me, brainless? I take a bit of offense, I plan to buck the dumb blonde stereotype. You, on the other hand, you started last year terrified of your own shadow and now you're the bravest of us all."

Peter blushed with excitement, although he was truly grateful that the makeup seemed to partially hide it. "Thanks, James. Say, weren't we a trio?" He pondered, accidently rubbing off some of the lion's chin makeup and looking mischievously at his roommate's bed.

"I'm not doing it, guys." A voice mumbled from the bed between Sirius and Peter's, face obscured by The Daily Prophet. "It was a good idea at the time, but I'm not happy with how I turned out. You two look great. Me, not so much. They're all going to laugh at me."

"Come off it!" James waved his hand, sending a few bits of straw flying throughout the room as he did. "I messed up my perfect complexion for you. And Peter has a tail, for crying out loud!"

"You think I did this because I wanted to fit in?" Peter agreed.

"D'you honestly think any of us would have done this on our own?" James pleaded.

"Hear, hear!" Peter seconded.

"I'll bet a bunch of older kids downstairs that are going to beat us up if they see me and Peter by ourselves!" James wheedled.

"Yeah! Wait, WHAT?!" Peter cried out, eyes becoming as large as dinner plates. "AAAAAHHHH! You didn't say anything about that!"

"Kidding, kidding! Maybe." James mused cheerfully. "But you think anyone downstairs are going to bully us if they see you? No one is going to mess with the guy carrying an axe!"

"Alright, alright, you've twisted my arm." Remus sighed, putting the newspaper down. His entire face had been painted silver, and wore a shiny fabric all over to simulate the Tin Man's body. "How do I look?"

"Heartless. Positively heartless." James offered.

"Well, better get this over with." Remus sighed, getting up and stretching his joints. "Where's Sirius? Doing his 'lone wolf' thing?"

"He got up before me." Peter said. "I didn't see him at all. If I know him, he must be waiting for us to go downstairs so he can make a dramatic exit. Er, entrance."

Begrudgingly joining James arm-in-arm, Remus and Peter made their way down to The Great Hall.

"_We're off to see the wizard / the wonderful wizard of_ SHIT!" James sang, his cheery mood disappearing rapidly.

"That's not the lyrics." Remus frowned.

"She didn't!" Peter scowled, putting both his arms at his side.

"What are YOU lot doing?" Lily frowned at them. Red hair aside, she was the spitting image of Dorothy Gale.

Oh, don't act so innocent, Evans!" James growled. "Trying to set us up, make it look like we're ripping you off when you're so clearly ripping US off! How can you sleep at night, manipulating poor Remus!"

"What, you think I plan everything based on how much it'll annoy you?" Lily asked. "Believe it or not, I _do_ have a life outside of you, Potter."

"Then it wasn't your idea. It was Remuses!" James turned on the heel, facing someone who looked awfully sweaty despite being made of metal.

"Well - uh - that is - James, this feud is so stupid!" Remus stammered. "For crying out loud, we're all Gryffindors here. Can't we just get along? I was thinking maybe if we dressed up together-"

"Well, you thought wrong." James huffed. "C'mon Peter, let's go find Sirius. Let Remus decide where his loyalties lie."

"Peter, you're smarter than this-" Remus began.

"You're right, I am." Peter muttered softly. "You should have told me you were going to do this. That's all I'm going to say."

And with that, the Scarecrow and The Conflicted Lion made their way to find Toto.

"Remus, is it true you got them to dress up like this for me?" Lily asked.

"Yeah, just like when we watched it together! Do you like it?" Remus said eagerly.

"I never asked you to do this." Lily said.

"I thought I'd surprise you, I guess." Remus said guiltily. "Didn't really work out, I take it."

"I think the intention is good." Lily said simply. "Maybe just tell me next time, okay?"

"Works for me." Remus said sheepilly. "Sorry, kinda created an idea how this would go in my head."

"It's cool, I thought mixing all of my friends would go well at the sleepover too." Lily shrugged. "How about you make it up to me, bring some chocolate frogs next study session?"

"You got it!" Remus said, shooting a smile and going off to get himself some porridge.

_Well, that wasn't a complete disaster._ Remus thought to himself.

"What was that?" The non-costumed Severus asked, strutting over from the Slytherin table. It wasn't that he didn't know about Halloween, he just didn't care to partake in the traditions of his Father's people.

"Oh, Remus and I were just talking." Lily shrugged. "I think he has a crush on me, put together this elaborate thing to try and impress me."

"How embarrassing." Severus said, barely disguised amusement in his eyes.

"It's not going to be fun to let him down, I can tell you that much. I hope he finds someone who feels the same way about him someday, the poor dear." Lily sighed.

"We can only- what the hell is Black wearing? Isn't that against the rules" Severus said suspiciously. Lily turned and saw what her classmate had chosen to do for Halloween.

_Well, no one told me about her / the way she lied / well, no one told me about her / how many people cried_

Sirius was wearing a Slytherin Quidditch outfit, a rather dirty one at that with black soot all over it. That would have been strange enough, only the name "Black" was stitched on the back, and even featured a silver "3" on the front. Most peculiar of all though, Sirius had chosen to dye his jet-black hair brown and grow it out to boot. It took Lily a few seconds, but she quickly put together who Sirius was dressed as.

_But it's too late to say you're sorry / How would I know, why should I care? / Please don't bother trying to find her / She's not there!_

Lily let out a slow, admiring whistle.

"I usually don't think much of him, but that costume rocks. Oh, Sirius' family is going to hate this…" She chuckled. Sirius seemed to notice this, and gave her a thumbs up that she returned admiringly to Severus' shock. With that, Sirius broke out into song, seemingly spurred on by the expressions on the faces of his cousin and brother.

"Well, let me tell you 'bout the way she looked / the way she acts and the color of her ha-ir! /

Her voice was soft and cool, her eyes were clear and bright / but she's not theeeeeeeerrrreee!"

**Thank you SO MUCH For Reading! Be Sure To Follow/Favorite, And Don't Forget to REVIEW! It Really Does Make My Day. Hope You All Had A Happy Halloween!**

_**Who's Next? Riddle Me This:**_

_Let me know what you all did for Halloween, next time someone who likes to keep it clean._


	16. The Statesman

"May I help you with anything else, sir?"

"No, that will be all, Winky."

"Of course, sir."

Crouch thumbed through his records, searching for what little information he held on the man he had chosen to lead his Auror Department. To his annoyance, Moody had clearly altered his file so only the person who had created it and himself could read certain passages. Aside from himself, Crouch had never met anyone else in his life who was so paranoid.

**Alastor Moody**

Apprenticed: Has mentored twelve Aurors in total over his career. Ten were accepted into our ranks, two were denied. History in total elaborated on my report on "Alastor Moody & His Apprentices".

Notable mentees include Eugene "Crazy Eights" Estevez, Tessa "Tex" Turnblatt, Geraldine "Roulette" DuBois, Ima "Solitaire" Smith, **[Redacted] **"Blackjack" **[Redacted]***

Current workload/personal reasons have led him to decline teaching anyone else in the foreseeable future. Has said he would consider taking another student when "[You-Know-Who] goes door-to-door collecting money during trick-or-treating for Unicef."**

Birth Name: Alastor **[Redacted]** "Mad-Eye" Moody

Blood Status: Pure-Blood

Country Of Origin: **[Redacted]**, Scotland

Criminal Record: Once attacked a Muggle musician named Paul Francis Gadd A.K.A "Gary Glitter", claimed that he was a pedophile. Muggle was obliviated, and Moody was cleared of all charges in the interest of keeping public faith in the department. Other than that, clean as a whistle.

Date Of Birth: **[Redacted]**

Known Family: **[Redacted]** Moody & Hortensia Moody (Parents), **[Redacted]** (?)

Known Associates: Albus Dumbledore

Loyalty Oath: Yes***

Nationality: Scottish, enjoys honorary citizenship in several other countries as a token of gratitude.

Occupation: Currently Head Auror Of The Auror Department, Former Deputy Under Scrimgeour's Tenure, **[Redacted]******

Political Views: Strong Pro-Auror, Pro-Muggle views, in sharp contrast to his **[Redacted]**. Seemingly favors strong government in terms of building military presence, yet hates bureaucratic interference.

Residence: Claims to have been born in Moody family home, current location is likely unplottable and currently undisclosed. Possible safe house elsewhere?

Schooling: Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft & Wizardry, **[Redacted]** House*****, claims to have served as prefect/head boy, records excepting grades already scrubbed when researched. Completed Auror training with signed approval from Inza McDonald and Head Auror Isaac Crouch.

Trained By: Inza McDonald

*Seem to mentor an awful lot of ladies, doesn't he? Five male apprentices, and seven females in total. Is he possibly using his position as a mentor to solicit sexual favors? Just saying, if a scandal breaks, you read it here first. I have my suspicions that **[Redacted]** is the product of his relations with a student, I elaborate on it more in my other, previously mentioned file.

**According to my research, Unicef is a Muggle charity organization. Therefore, the likelihood of You-Know-Who raising money for Muggle children (or trick-or-treating for that matter) is rather unlikely.

***One of the first to do so after your appointment to Head Of Magical Law Enforcement

****Possible unspeakable? When asked, responded with dead silence until I dismissed him.

*****Has given four different answers on numerous occasions when prompted. I think he MIGHT be a Slytherin? Check out my essay; "Moody & Hogwarts Houses" for more.

Search performed by **[Redacted]**.

As Crouch finished reading the file, the paper began to shudder and green letters across the back of the folder began to appear.

**If you really must know, your stooge was onto something about me being a snake… or was he? Nice try, Crouch! - Mad-Eye**


	17. Vernon Dursley: The Confidence (wo)Man

On one of many streets in Britain laid a fantastic travelling tent full to the brim of the enlightened, who followed the works of the famous prophet Cassandra Trewlawny. The leader of this branch was Cassandra's Great-Granddaughter, Felicia Trelawney, or as The Trelawneyites referred to her, "Madame Trelawney." To them, she was the chosen one, the keeper of her great-grandmother's legacy, the lone speaker of truth in a deceptive world.

"Dear sir," Madame Trelawney began. "Do you want to see your naked, unchanging destiny exposed- OOF!"

Mind, the rest of the world didn't exactly see it that way.

"OUT-OF-MY-RUDDY-WAY!" growled the heavyset, mustached man, rudely pushing past to the chagrin of the seer's assembled crowd. "Such nonsense… crystal balls, palm reading, chakra, bird entrails, tarot cards, tea leaves… you lot would be better off buying some soap with those pounds you're wasting on this fraud!"

"You better not talk to her like that!" A woman with a pierced lip and puce mohawk ordered, her modern fashion offending the man's eyes immensely. "Madame Trelawney sees all, and all see her!"

"That last part doesn't even make any sense!" Vernon Dursley scoffed, eyes darting spitefully at the aghast men and women on the block. "You're not just wrong, you're stupid! If she really did see all, how come she wasn't able to see me coming through? If she really is _'all-knowing'_ why didn't she know better than to leave me be?"

"You are an oppressor!" The mohawked woman growled, finger pointed accusingly at the man to the cheers and egging-on of her peers. "A non-believer! A lazy, self-righteous, establishment-"

"I notice you didn't answer my question." Vernon observed wryly.

"Enough, Morgana." The woman requested in the same sort of wispy, mystical tone she had addressed Vernon with earlier. "Your fire will lead you down the wrong path if you don't tend to it."

"Sorry, Madame Trelawney." Morgana muttered, her head hanging low.

"Nothing to apologize for, my dear, for we are all humans and humans all." Madame Trelawney intoned. "And that includes Vernon Dursley as well, he is probably concerned with tending to his drills."

"Don't you involve ME in any of your mumbo-jumbo!" Vernon said, teeth gritting at the prospect of being involved in such… such… _impropriety_. What would the neighbors think?

"If it's such mumbo-jumbo, how did she know your name when you didn't give it?" Another follower from the crowd asked.

Vernon rolled his eyes and pointed to his name tag. He was notoriously poor with names, and as a show of good faith to his employees wore one as well.

"Well - ah - how did she know you worked in drills?" Yet another asked, a flash of doubt crossing her eyes.

Vernon yet again found little need to speak and simply pointed above the building Madame Trelawney was soliciting under. Turning around, The Trelawneyites were dismayed to see a giant billboard which declared in large yellow letters, **"Grunnings: Far Above Average Drills For The Far Above Average Man"** and had Vernon wearing a tuxedo and holding a drill in a fashion clearly paying homage to James Bond. Underneath it very clearly stated in silver cursive letters, **"Vernon Dursley, Director Of Grunnings, License To Drill"**.

He had thought it a bit much, but Petunia had loved it. He even bought that tuxedo from the agency and had brought it back home for "her eyes only."

Vernon grinned maliciously at Madame Trelawney, he held no sympathy for confidence men like her, peddling their malarky for the sake of attention and preying on people's superstitions. However, she seemed unperturbed by his accusations.

"You know, Mr. Dursley, for a man who doesn't ascribe a lot of value to the inner eye, you did seem to be able to name an awful lot of sources for mediums to utilize earlier." She pointed out amusedly, stroking her chin and raising her left eyebrow.

Vernon opened his mouth to rebutt this, but realized that she had actually made a good point and decided to close it again. Madame Trelawney's followers chose to apply selective memory and sang her praises, casting triumphant glances at the nonbeliever as if she had completely destroyed his credibility entirely.

Perhaps an… example is required to open your eye?" Madame Trelawney suggested innocently. "How about a cup of tea, on me? No charge."

Vernon checked his watch. He still had a few minutes before he had to head back, and desired very greatly to make a fool of this quack.

"Sure, I suppose I could be open to that." He shrugged. "Brew away."

And so, Vernon and her most loyal of Trewlanyites in wake, Madame Trelawney marched over to a tent covered with posters saying things such as _"Cassandra Trewlawny's Prophecy Of Doom"_,_ "Do I Have The Inner Eye"_ or _"October 31st, 1981: The Last Day"_ and withdrew from the pockets in her robes two packets of tea and her sleeves two ready-made steaming cups of hot water.

"Apologies, my friends, but only the most enlightened may aid me in this delicate process." Madame Trelawney said to her followers outside of the tent. They all looked positively heartbroken.

A heavily perfumed odor and scented incense wafted from every corner, causing his eyes to water and sweat to drip down his scalp. Everything had been bloody cold for the past two weeks, how was this rinky-dink little tent so stuffy in the middle of a city block? And for that matter, how were the insides so large when the outside looked no more than nine feet across? The symbols across the tent were sketchy and vicious-looking, depicting shadowy figures and mysterious objects, hastily scratched notes questioning over and over again why, why, why?

"Forgive the lack of sugar and milk, my child, but I am afraid such additives dilute the process of Tessomancy." Madame Trelawney sighed dreamily, seating herself after Vernon plopped down on the chintzy cushion.

"Think nothing of it." Vernon grunted, miffed at being referred to as a woman not ten years older than him as a "child" and uneasily eyeing the tea bags she was lowering into the steaming pots.

"To your good health, Vernon Dursley." Madame Trelawney drawled, holding out her cup to toast him.

"Hmm." Vernon nodded, returning her toast, and satisfied to see that she had taken a sip from her cup did so as well until there was nothing left but dregs.

"Now, to exchange cups." Madame Trelawney said, two of her followers switching the cups around.

"What is it you see, Vernon Dursley?" She requested, her followers hanging onto her every word.

"A crack at the bottom of my cup." Vernon said. "Perhaps you should invest in better china."

"No, no, beyond the physical realm." Madame Trelawney intoned. "In the tea leaves, Vernon, what is it you sense?"

"Well, I guess, perhaps if I look at it in a certain light, mine does look a bit like a dog." Vernon said evasively, squinting his watery eyes and turning his head.

The Trelawneyites all whispered excitedly, pointing to Vernon and the soggy contents within his cup much to the satisfaction of Madame Trelawney and the utter befuddlement of Vernon.

"_The Grim_." Morgana whispered, eyes full of wonder. "He sees! Even with his voluntary blindness, he _sees_. There can be no doubt, the end of the world is upon us, my children."

"Er, what is it I'm seeing exactly?" Vernon said, tilting his head curiously.

Madame Trelawney smiled smugly. "The moment I encountered your spirit, I sensed something different about you, Vernon." Madame Trelawney declared vaguely. "Something… 'above average' as you'd put it. Something… _mystical_ in your bloodline, perhaps? It _would_ explain how surprisingly well versed you are in the art of Divination."

Vernon turned rather red at this. How dare she imply he, or any of his family for that matter be _unnatural_!

"No, can't say I do." He said through gritted teeth.

"Pity." Madame Trelawney remarked sadly. "So often, these types of gifts are unappreciated by those who wield them. You wouldn't happen to be-"

"No." Vernon said flatly. "I'm not."

"Oh yes, of course not." Madame Trelawney muttered. "All the magic in the air on All Hallows Eve is getting my signals all crossed."

"No, your 'signals' are just fine, I'd imagine." Vernon growled. "You're just a lying con artist who's taking advantage of these hooligans, that's all."

All of The Trelawneyites in the room gasped.

"BUT-BUT-BUT YOU SAW THE GRIM!-" Morgana sputtered. "You're a logical man, surely, even you-"

"Oh yes, I did see." Vernon grinned. "Mind, it's a good trick. The incense was a nice touch. But still, a trick nonetheless."

"What is it you think makes this a trick, Vernon Dursley?" Madame Trelawney questioned.

"Glad you asked." Vernon explained. "Have any of you heard of "cold reading?" I presume the answer is no. Basically, what your leader did was ask very general questions based on observations on my character, assuming because of my knowledge of your methods of fortune-telling I had immediate family that was mystical. Notice, she didn't say "you're mystical" or "your parents are mystical", she left just enough wiggle room for me to fill in my confirmation biases."

Was it just Vernon, or did he see a flash of fear go through Madame Trelawney's eyes?

"Well, divination is a difficult thing to pin down," Morgana insisted. "It often varies depending on the weather, and the positions of the stars. Only we open enough to accept her gift are blessed with her sight."

"I thought you said something to the effect of "_She sees all, and all see her._" Vernon said innocently.

"But you saw The Grim!" Another follower protested. "You have to have some inkling of the inner eye!"

"And what exactly is this "grin?" I think I'm experiencing it now." Vernon teased, propping his elbows on the table and his chin on his outstretched hands.

"Not the _grin_, you idiot, _The Grim_!" Morgana offered desperately. "The Grim is a giant, black spectral dog that haunts churchyards and mutilates livestock! It is the hound of death itself!"

"Ah, I was hoping you'd get to that." Vernon explained. "I only said 'looks like a dog.' Aren't there any other omens in your text that resemble a canine?"

"Well, there is the daschund which represents stubborness." One follower pointed out.

"The bulldog often is associated with tenacity." Another offered.

"German shepherds-"

"Enough, Ally, Michael, Geoffrey." Madame Trelawney interrupted testily. "Enough on my unfortunate fate, how about we examine YOUR future, Vernon Dursley?"

"Go ahead." He shrugged.

Snatching Vernon's teacup, Madame Trelawney examined his tea leaves intensely, turning the cup around in her hands as she did. The Trelawneyites stayed silent and waiting with bated breath.

"The Club… an attack. The Moon… surely great sadness will come as a direct response from this attack, or will motivate it to begin with. That's unusual, The Acorn… an unexpected treasure, right after? Curious. But what's this?!"

Madame Trelawney sucked in a great deal of smoke, which made her already bulging eyes pop even more and trails of smoke to exit her nose and mouth as though she were a dragon.

"I see THE FALCON!" She yelped. "Oh dear, Vernon, you are in grave danger! Someone wishes your death very much, and I am afraid they will succeed!"

"Oh no, I see it now too!" Vernon gulped, looking between both teacups in a panic. "As a matter of fact, I'm beginning to see something else in your cup!"

"Yes, Vernon, what is it?" Madame Trelawney asked anxiously.

"I see…" Vernon gulped. "I see… I see…"

"Don't keep it inside, spit it out!" Morgana cried out.

"In addition to The Grim, I see two birds…" Vernon trembled, hands shaking in front of him. "As a matter of fact, I also see The Cicada, symbolizing that- oh no, it can't be -"

Vernon threw up two remarkably rude hand gestures on each hand at the same time, causing the inner circle of the Trelawneyites to explode in disbelief and fury.

"THEY'RE HERE - RIGHT NOW!" Vernon bellowed triumphantly. "Great scott, I'm a genius!"

Madame Trelawney was utterly speechless.

"And as for how I knew all of this, Miss Trelawney?" Vernon concluded nastily. "For your information, I received a copy of _Unfogging The Future_ last Christmas from a so-called 'mystical relative.' I keep it in the loo - but not for reading."

"GET OUT OF MY TENT, NONBELIEVER!" bellowed Madame Trelawney, her pale face flush with rage, positively vibrating with passion.

"But Madame Trelawney, how will I ever understand why I got a prophecy other than The Grim when your grandmother predicted we'd never get past today?" Vernon asked innocently.

"WHY DON'T YOU ASK YOUR FATHER OR MOTHER OR UNCLE OR AUNT OR BROTHER OR SISTER WHY, YOU BLOODY IMPOSSIBLE MAN?!" Madame Trelawney screamed at the top of her lungs, shooting spittle everywhere.

"Very well," Vernon shrugged nonchalantly. "Bye, Felicia."

Vernon exited the tent with a satisfied smirk on his face, leaving an infuriated soothsayer and her consoling followers in his wake. It had been a good day.

**What do you think was meant by Vernon's prophecy? Do you think as of December 24th, 2019, it's a little strange the world hasn't ended by now? And will Madame Trelawney be proven a true seer, or hemorrhage followers come November First? All this and more next time, next year, next decade if not sooner, on "The Magician!"**

**Riddle Of The Day:** Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Cheery Kwanzaa, dear viewers. Be sure to let me know who you want to see in the new year. It's my gift to you all, I wouldn't be anything without my fans. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to finish my Grinch parody. Feliz navidad!


	18. Kettleburn: The Man With The Metal Arm

"Professor Kettleburn, sir, if you don't mind, I'll be taking my leave now." Hagrid said, gingerly placing the cage of the last fire crab onto the cart. "I have an overdue appointment at The Hog's Head, I do."

"Mmmm?" Silvanus muttered, lost in thought. "Oh, yes, of course. Thanks for the help, Rubeus. Very good of you. I'll get one of the House-Elves to take care of the lot, return it to the center."

"If I might ask, sir, are you sure you'll be able to get back to the castle okay?" Hagrid asked, casting a wary eye to the grey skies above him.

"I'll be fine, I still have one leg." The Care Of Magical Creatures teacher said cheerfully. "You're a good lad, Rubeus. Always liked you."

"Well, you were the first Professor who ever saw me as more than just a dopey screw-up." Hagrid blushed.

"Now, now, Rubeus, you know how I feel about you putting yourself down." Silvanus intoned, wagging his claw at the half-giant reproachfully. "You can tell what head of The Runespoor is which in two seconds flat, that doesn't sound like a screw-up to me. Even I couldn't do that, much to my, uh, _misfortune_."

Silvanus guiltily glanced down at his right leg.

"Was it a Runespoor that took your leg?" Hagrid asked.

"No, just a toe that time." Silvanus shrugged. "It was a Quintaped who took the leg, I'm afraid."

"A Hairy MacBoon?" Hagrid's eyes widened. "That's incredible! You still have it?"

"No, I turned it into The Ministry." Silvanus scowled, his good mood immediately turning. "Unlike a lot of creatures, I don't really see the point in preserving them. They're butt-ugly, they are an invasive species by nature, and have incestous relations with their own young and eat them if they refuse, bleeeeehhhhhhh…... if not for the magical properties their bodies possessed in the field of potions, I'd say they're all better off extinct."

Hagrid seemed to take none of this in, for he was scratching his chin and looking off into the distance dreamily.

"Don't do it, Rubeus." Silvanus said, eyes twitching. "I know that look. Don't go looking for Quintapeds. I only saw one on their native island in Scotland!"

"Great to see you, Professor." Hagrid said, taking off to the pub.

"It's not too late to fail you!" Silvanus called behind Hagrid's back.

"I was expelled!" Hagrid rebutted.

"Fair enough!" Silvanus shrugged. "Brrrrrrr…. What's taking that House-Elf? There hasn't been a storm this bad in years."

**Thank You So Much For Reading! Hope Y'all Enjoy The Riddle!**

_**Brother Of Aurelius, beard of white, first character shown in the film series other than that random owl. Who am- you know what? I'm getting tired of writing these riddles. Dumbledore. It's Dumbledore. You know which one.**_


	19. Interlude: The Witching Hour

**Then**

**October 30th, 1940 - "Eighteen Minutes To All Hallows Eve"**

Cygnus glowered at the matchbox in his fingers with the utmost of hatred. How could Muggles put up with this rubbish alternative to magical combustion? Crouch had insisted upon a strict no magic policy as long as he remained a tenant in this lousy motel, and Cygnus couldn't afford to embarrass himself again in front of his boss again.

By now, the box was almost empty. Each one of the broken matches littered across the floor beside Cygnus' bed and all over his bedsheets stood as a tribute to his increasing frustration. His partner might have found it amusing, were he awake.

The room had two beds, but instead of resting there, Cygnus' Auror partner had decided to prop himself up against the wall with his arms folded and knee slightly bent, his head not even drooping.

Cygnus had briefly considered asking his partner for help twelve attempts ago, but rejected it quickly. After all, he didn't know for instance if his partner would resent being woken up for something so trivial. Might think less of him as a man. And after all, if Muggles could figure this out, how hard could it be?

Light finally flashed in front of Cygnus' fingers, with the frustrated Auror almost crying out in triumph but catching himself at the last second. Pinching the match in between his thumb and forefinger, he groped around in the dim light with his spare hand for a cigarette. Just as Cygnus managed to position his tobacco-infused vice in his lips, he felt both his fingers burn and he immediately cried out in pain, dropping the lit match and rushing to the sink to douse his fingertips.

However, seeing that he had lit his bedsheets ablaze, Cygnus soon had to rush back, seizing his pillow to smother the miniature flame he had created.

"I know an easier way." Alastor grunted.

"_Oh, no, it's fine, it's fine-"_ Cygnus whispered, startled a bit. _"I can manage it, go back to sleep-"_

"I slept earlier this evening."His partner grunted, helping himself up. "I should be awake now anyway. Don't want to be caught with my pants down during the witching hour."

"Well, if you're up anyway." Cygnus shrugged. "I'm sorry, Alastor, what was that last thing you said? Is that a code word or something Scrimgeour told you?"

"The witching hour is an expression from the nineteenth century." Alastor said, extending his palm. "Give me that, please? Thank you. Didn't you learn about it in History Of Magic?"

"Ah- that's possible." Cygnus grumbled. "What section was it?"

"I remember it being an aspect of witch burnings as taught in my Third Year, but the curriculum may have changed since then." Alastor shrugged.

"I certainly remember that part of the class." Cygnus scowled. "Children, rounded up, enslaved or slaughtered like pigs for the crime of being given such a gift… those illustrations gave me nightmares for weeks."

"To be fair, it wasn't something that was discussed in detail." Alastor shrugged. "My textbook only really mentioned it at one point as a way to caution children to stay indoors at night lest Scourers snatch them up. It's practical advice, but also severely outdated, an artifact of a previous edition. No one really knows we're there anymore. And that's just how I like it."

"And what exactly _is_ this witching hour?" Cygnus insisted impatiently. Alastor played with the cigarette Cygnus had handed him between his fingertips as he pondered upon a way to explain it accurately.

"You didn't happen to take Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, did you?" Alastor asked.

"I most certainly did not." Cygnus turned his nose up, clearly offended.

"Didn't think so. Basically, according to Muggles, the witching hour is the time of night when a witch or wizard's powers are at their strongest." Alastor said, closing the cigarette in his palm. "The hours vary, sometimes it begins at midnight, other times at two o'clock or three o'clock, but generally is considered to have ended at four."

Opening his palms to display the cigarette was nowhere to be found, Alastor began to pat around the many pockets in his jacket in mock confusion.

"Of course, this was mainly used as a method by witch hunters to murder Muggle women who weren't able to explain with sufficient reason why there were out beyond curfew." He continued. "This term is meant to prey on the fears and superstitions of Muggles everywhere, and we teach it to kids."

Alastor seized out his hand to grab something behind Cygnus' ear, producing the lost cigarette. As he held it between his fingers, a yellow spark seemed to travel up through Alastor's fingernails and into the butt, lighting the tip of it on fire while leaving the rest untouched, casting an eerie orange glow over the Auror's face.

"You can imagine why Grindelwald tends to favor this time of night." Alastor finished, offering the butt to his partner.

"Thanks." Cygnus said, gingerly taking an extended puff and blowing out nervously.

"Mind if I smoke too?" Alastor asked.

"Go ahead." Cygnus said.

Alastor rummaged through his pockets once again and produced a cigar, biting off the top with his teeth and spitting it out into a wastebasket. Choosing to abstain from his finger trick, Alastor instead retrieved the matchbox and managed to light his cigar, puffing out a large cloud of blue smoke from his mouth.

"Are those cuban?" Cygnus asked, gesturing nonchalantly towards Alastor's cigar.

"Yeah." Alastor grunted. "Don't always smoke 'em, but it's a special occasion. Proudfoot just had a baby, and she sent 'em to the office as a way to celebrate."

"Oh, that's nice." Cygnus said. "I think she mentored my buddy, Phillip. Kind of a strange tradition, isn't it; sending a cigar when a baby is born?"

"How so?" Alastor asked.

"Been reading up on parenting lately. Turns out all the smoke is bad for the baby." Cygnus pointed out. "Who would have guessed? My Mother smoked two packs a day all her life whenever The House-Elves couldn't find her pipe. Maybe that's why I'm so turned around."

Alastor raised his eyebrow. Well, that was interesting.

"Got yourself a little bundle of joy on the way, Black?" Alastor asked.

"No, no. Not yet. Need a wife first. Not going to be an Auror forever, you know." Cygnus mused. "Eventually, I'm going to have to settle down, help Orion out with family affairs. When that time comes, then I'll have kids. How about you?"

Alastor shook his head. "I'm not that interested either. Too much hassle."

"If I did, I'd want a boy." Cygnus said, a look of dreamy longing filling his eyes. "Someone just like me, only better. And someday down the line, have some grandkids, tell them all about my adventures, tell them all about Grandpa Black's time as an Auror. About the time we made history on this day, October 31st."

"Here's hoping we don't go down the path of Napoleon. " Alastor grunted. "You think Crouch is going to run for Minister?"

"I think so." Cygnus nodded. "I may not like him, but he's really the one on the front lines. And with that fancy shapeshifter repellent, he's sure to pull in a lot of sympathy from our crowd. We could put an end to lycanthropy, can you imagine?"

"I can." Alastor agreed. "I can also imagine that stuff being put into the rain to flush out all the shapeshifters who AREN'T under Grindelwald's employ just because they make Crouch uncomfortable."

"True, but if people really undertook the Animagus process illegally that's more on them then on us." Cygnus rebutted, shrugging his shoulders. "Pretty sure all the legal ones are on our side, last time I checked."

"And what about people who didn't ask for those abilities to begin with?" Alastor pressed on.

"What do they have to hide?" Cygnus said, growing a little more irritable. "Crouch said it doesn't even work on un-transfigured people. Why do you care?"

"Someone has to." Alastor said. "Metamorphmagi, Animagi and Werewolves are turning to Grindelwald for help because history has shown we've screwed them over time and time again. Just look at the numbers, despite our own past with persecution I think we're actually worse. If it's not centaurs or goblins it's our own kind. This isn't gonna turn the tide, it's gonna piss 'em all off and side with Grindelwald."

"That's not fair. I was just trying to engage with you, Moody, and you jumped down my throat." Cygnus began to look flustered.

"So was I." Alastor responded evenly. "You asked me my opinion, and I gave it."

"Forget I said anything." Cygnus turned away from his partner. "Just trying to pass the time, and you look at me like I'm some kind of monster."

There was a pause as Cygnus gazed out at the moon.

"You think I don't know about the traffickers? That I'm just happy to let it happen as long as it doesn't personally inconvenience me?" Cygnus swallowed hard.

"When I was eight, I had no idea what a Metamorphmagus was. Just assumed they were particularly skilled at Transfiguration. Then one day - well, I was crawling through the grates of my house, I think I was looking for a toy I had lost or something. I saw my Uncle with this woman, or man or whatever and he ordered them to turn into his ex-wife so he could - you know. When I looked in their eyes, I saw _nothing_. Just no light at all, it was like they had gotten the dementor's kiss. I saw that look again when Crouch wheeled out that assassin."

Cygnus took another puff from his cigarette. "Never told anyone that before." He muttered.

Alastor carefully considered his partner. "I'm stressed. I put a lot of that in you. I'm not great at apologies."

"It's fine." Cygnus said simply.

Alastor reached into his overlarge jacket and withdrew two decks of cards. Until the witching hour began, the two Aurors played in silence, smoke steadily beginning to fill the room.


End file.
